

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT; 









\ 




1 



WHERE THE TWAIN MET 



























J 

Where the Twain Met 


HERBERT G. WOODWORTH 

AUTHOR OF 

**IN THE SHADOW OF LANTERN STREET,” ETC. 



boston 

SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 

ofay a 





. Ww 

V/h. 



Copyright, 1925 , 

By SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 

(INCOBPORATED ) ( 


Printed in the United States of America 
Printed by Geo. H. Ellis Co., Inc., Boston, Massachusetts 
Bound by the Boston Bookbinding Company 
Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. 

j 


MAR-2 ’25 



©C1A823233 

;'V 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 



















Where the Twain Met 


CHAPTER I 

A coffin almost new, stained by the recent rain, stood 
out beside the yellow plastered wall of a tiny house on 
the river bank. Far off, across vivid green fields and low 
brown hills, a pink pagoda tapered upward in seven 
graceful stories. The gentle lapping of the great Yangtze 
River murmured against a sloping bank. 

The afternoon sun was shining bright and warm, though 
March was not yet come, and the river had only just 
begun to rise, to regain the forty-six feet of depth which 
it had lost in the dry half-year. Now, a very proper 
stream, it was confined between definite limits. Another 
six months and it would spread far off into the low 
country to the North and to the South. 

Therefore the coffin and the little yellow house stood 
on a ridge of high ground well above the river, where 
scattered mounds told of other coffins finally covered 
with earth only when they had begun to fall to pieces. 

It could not have been because of the heat of the day, 
for it was only comfortably warm; no living thing was in 
sight, nothing to suggest life, save only these poor habi- 

i 


2 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

tations so near together, these dwellings of the living and 
the dead. 

Yet, if one had ascended the slope to the open door, a 
voice might have been heard, musical, low pitched, the 
voice of a woman still young. One need not have seen 
the speaker; the quality of her voice told that she was 
young. Something proclaimed also that she was well 
bred, educated; what she said told moreover that she was 
in a reckless mood, her temper quite out of hand, that 
she was taking particular pains to wound the person to 
whom she spoke. 

So it would not have been necessary to approach to the 
very door to hear what was said; nor would the listener, 
though he had stood an hour, have heard a word in reply. 

“ 'Carried about of winds/ ” said the voice. "Do you 
remember that verse of Scripture? It describes us per¬ 
fectly: the winds blow two dry little lives into the same 
corner where they whirl together, they and the dust of 
the streets and bits of soiled paper. So they were joined, 
fitly or unfitly, and what chance hath joined together let 
no man put asunder.” Silence for a time, broken only 
by that soft lapping of the river yonder, and the distant 
creaking of a water wheel. Then, in a tone of banter 
that was full of bitterness: 

"Slow; that describes you. Slow, old fogy; stodgy; 
that is a faithful portrait of you! Why should a girl be 
such a little fool as to throw away her life for the honor 
of taking your poor name in place of her own which was 
a perfectly good specimen of English! 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


3 


“Oh, you needn’t say it. I know what’s on the tip of 
your tongue, but you musn’t forget I was fifteen years 
younger than you, and a girl of four and twenty doesn’t 
know the difference between infatuation and admiration. 
Well, a year in this God-forsaken country has opened 
her eyes. 

“Last night, that line ran in my head all night long: 
‘Cabined, cribbed, confined.’ It seemed to point directly 
to me—partly in derision, partly in warning. Cabined, I 
said to myself; that was my poor little suburban make¬ 
shift life: while other girls were castled I was cabined. 
Then I married you, thinking to better myself, and for a 
year I’ve been cribbed out here halfway between nothing 
and nowhere. Thank Heaven, I haven’t yet been con¬ 
fined ! So there’s something to be thankful for. A girl 
never knows when she’s well off. If Father hadn’t been 
such a fool as to forbid it, I should never in the world 
have done such a thing. The cow isn’t the only creature 
who spends her spare time reaching over into the next 
pasture to try the grass over there. It isn’t because it 
looks any better over there. It’s just because there’s a 
fence. 

“Hm! I used to tell the girls, when they asked what 
you did for a living, that you were a writer. I blush to 
think of it. A writer! I should have said you were an 
observer. There is always a crowd of observers on 
the opposite sidewalk when a safe is being hoisted into 
an office window. They always think the men doing the 
job are lazy or timid. 


4 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


“It would be laughable if it weren’t tragic. What can 
you give a woman? What have you ever given me? 
What could one expect from your puny income? 

“And then, when I do get a chance, when you manage 
to take me for a treat to Shanghai—why, you don’t know 
anyone; you can’t even dance! You might as well be 
fifty, and done with life! 

“If you could even play cards, like other people—but 
you’d have to stop to count the spots on any card above 
a three spot! All you can do is look and talk. I admit 
I used to flatter you and think what you said was wonder¬ 
ful, but I was young then.” 

A gust of wind, chill and raw, ruffled the surface of 
the river, following along its course from the mountains 
far to the west. It tossed the bright green grass in long 
billowing waves. An aged sycamore felt its breath, and 
flung his giant arms high in the air. A little column of 
black smoke that rose and spread into a pall preceded 
by a little space the throb of engines far upstream sig¬ 
nalling the approach of the Siang Yang from Hankow. 

The coffin, standing clear, unprotected, lonely, trembled 
in the cold wind as though its occupant were stirring. 
A cloud obscured the sun. The door of the little yellow 
house blew shut with a bang. 


CHAPTER II 


Twelve hours later, in the half light of early morning, 
a slender white figure scrambled up out of the river, 
stood for an instant a gleaming statue of a nymph, then 
hastily donned a few clothes, and sauntered back to the 
house for tea and rolls. 

She wore what appeared to be a suit of pyjamas, the 
jacket of a gray brocade, the trousers of sky blue, short 
enough to reveal white socks and black silk shoes without 
heels—a native costume common enough among city girls. 
Her hair hung in a thick dark braid, which, had she been 
Chinese, would have advertised that she was unmarried. 

As she was English it advertised merely that she was a 
rebel, for her husband stood in the doorway waiting for 
her, despite his irritation smiling to see her swagger with 
hands tucked halfway into her trousers’ pockets, after the 
manner of the best society of China. 

“Don’t look so scornful, Peter,” she called. “One 
doesn’t need a bathing suit where nobody ever comes, 
except now and then a stray coolie. I think there’s some¬ 
thing very charming about the Japanese method of bath¬ 
ing —Vox et praeterea nihil —nothing but conversation. I 
tried it yesterday on that smug missionary who came along 
the opposite bank.” By this time she had come quite 

5 


6 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

near and answering the question in the man’s eyes, con¬ 
tinued : 

“But when the test came I lacked courage; convention 
was too strong for my principles, and I told him to go on 
his way, or I couldn’t come out of the water. At that 
he tried to flirt with me—in the missionary way—like a 
cow doing the fox trot.” 

“You speak of a coolie as you would of a collie,” said 
the man. 

“Shows how honest I am,” she answered. “That’s 
just the way I think of them. And the missionary—I’d 
have had more respect for him if he had taken a seat 
and refused to budge. He walked off quoting a text of 
Scripture and trying to see me over his shoulder in a little 
pocket mirror.” 

As the man turned to reenter the house his eye was 
attracted by a bit of paper stuffed into the wooden latch 
of the door. Scrawled on it in his wife’s girlish hand 
he read: “If anyone calls for me direct them to St. Luke 
xxiv, 5.” 

She followed him in, saw him without a word get down 
his Bible from the book shelf which it shared with the 
“Arabian Nights,” Pepys’s “Diary,” “Isaak Walton,” 
“Grimm’s Tales,” and a dozen modem English novels. 
Finding the verse he read it aloud: 

“ ‘Why seek ye the living among the dead ?’ 

“I see,” he said, scarcely above a whisper, “this is a 
continuation of yesterday’s invective—so it wasn’t mo¬ 
mentary but momentous.” 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


7 


A little twisted smile, relic of sensitive childhood, lifted 
one corner of his mouth. Had he been seven instead of 
thirty-five, you would have called it a brave attempt to 
keep back the tears. If the girl saw it she ignored it. 
She was looking only at that coffin that stood beside the 
house. Following her gaze his own also rested upon the 
long yellow box, so familiar a sight in that country, then 
slowly rose to meet hers. Finding there no sympathy or 
tenderness, only derision and impatience, the wry smile 
came again and disappeared, but a wistful appeal lingered 
in his eyes, a slight trembling of the lids. The whole 
subject treated by her so lightly, so disdainfully, was to 
him a vital issue fraught with tragedy. 

“Shall I serve Amah first?” she asked when, seated at 
the little teak table, she had begun to pour the tea that 
her husband had prepared in her absence. “If you’re 
bound to respect these heathen customs, why don’t you 
keep tea and food on her altar as long as her body is above 
ground ?” 

“Please don’t!” he answered. “She was very dear to 
me, ever since I was a small boy. I suppose it’s because 
Mother had to be away so much. But I loved Amah, 
and it’s only a little thing to respect her wish that her body 
might have the usual honors paid it.” 

“You must have made a great pair, you and your hob¬ 
bling nurse; you two paralyzed at the extremities by the 
bonds of convention! And now I’m launched on the nar¬ 
row way, the matrimonial path which leadeth unto life 
everlasting. I understand the everlasting when I look 


8 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


back over my one year of it. Don’t try to turn away. 
I see the color in your face that confesses you know 
exactly what I mean!” 

Then to herself this strange young wife continued while 
she watched him narrowly for sign of the reply which 
she could not force him to utter: 

“How I wish he would turn on me in a perfect fury; 
denounce me for the mean little cad I am; then kick me 
out until I should have to come crawling back for forgive¬ 
ness. He doesn’t understand women, and he’s just about 
suffocating trying to consume his own smoke.” 

Peter’s face was indeed a revelation of Peter’s charac¬ 
ter, for, while his eyes were dark, flashing fire beneath a 
frowning brow, his mouth betrayed a desire to give way 
to the grief and disappointment which so soon had come 
to mar the happiness of his married life, a life which 
six months ago he had characterized as an ideal existence. 
And because of this contest between two opposing emo¬ 
tions Peter was silent and thoughtful. It seemed to him 
that never before had he so thoroughly appreciated his 
wife’s beauty and charm. What wonderful dark brown 
eyes, full of laughter and mystery, hinting all sorts of 
things half hidden behind those lids always threatening 
to close, shutting you out—or in! He had never begun 
to fathom those eyes, never expected to fathom them. 
Her mouth was large but well shaped. After all, he de¬ 
cided, it was in her clear complexion that you found her 
exquisite charm. No, it was the natural wave of her 
black hair growing so low on a broad forehead. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


9 


“How silly I am,” he said at length, though not aloud. 
“Her beauty is merely the result of health and bodily 
grace. It’s the beauty of the perfect animal. Only one 
could never find in the animal’s eyes what one sees in 
hers: the spirit, the soul. That’s what refuses to be 
fettered.” 

He had forgotten to drink his tea; it was growing cold, 
untasted while he sat there pondering the woman now 
seated before him and indifferent to his thoughts as to 
his silent presence. She seemed to enjoy her tea and 
bread and jam, but her eyes, ignoring all that was near, 
looked directly over the yellow coffin outside and fol¬ 
lowed the course of the river up stream, where a great 
flat house boat had just turned into it from one of the 
many canals towards the south. 

“What pleases you so, Esther ?” the man asked, for the 
sight of the house boat had wrought an instant change in 
her whole expression. 

At the sound of her own name she turned suddenly to 
exclaim: “Why, Peter Landon, that’s the first time since 
we were married that you haven’t called me Vashti or V.” 

“So it is”; he assented. “Don’t know how it happened 
now.” 

“I do. You’re angry. You’ve lost your temper.” 

“You never took the trouble to analyze that nickname,” 
he answered her. “Esther was the girl who supplanted 
Vashti.” 

“Well, then, why did you begin by calling me Vashti ?” 

“Because she was the lady of whom it was written that 


10 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


she was fair to look upon; but she wouldn’t come when 
the king sent for her.” 

“And a year ago—when I didn’t know you at all—only 
barely enough to marry you—you selected that insulting 
nickname.” 

At this point she chanced to spy just rising above the 
river bank and approaching the house a tall distinguished 
man, a Chinese gentleman of wealth and position as one 
could see at a glance. His clothes were simple but elegant, 
his manners less simple but equally elegant. He was 
used to deference and admiration, had tested the power of 
great riches and knew that all other powers were puny 
beside that so berated by the politicians, so derided by 
the poets. 

“It is Ko-Yiang,” Esther said, watching her husband’s 
face narrowly to learn there how the news impressed him. 
Seeing neither scowl nor frown she turned to welcome 
her distinguished guest, at the same time speculating 
whether Peter was actually blind to events or so occupied 
with his own visions that he only asked to be undisturbed. 
Could he have failed to see that this Chinese dilettante, 
this young man who had travelled all over the world, a 
linguist, a scholar, a patron of the fine arts, had been 
laying siege to the heart of the charming English bride; 
and not without some encouragement from the young 
lady herself? 

Peter, far from indifferent, was occupied with his own 
thoughts. 

This, then, explained her language yesterday, that cu- 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


ii 


rious mixture of irritability and self-consciousness. It 
wasn't natural; that interlarding of invective with quota¬ 
tions showed that she was playing a part. Now it was 
plain enough; she was groping for righteous indignation 
to justify her conduct with her Chinese admirer. 

Did she think for an instant that he, Peter Landon, was 
asleep; that he didn’t know what was going on; that 
he hadn’t heard of Mr. Ko’s frequent visits for the past 
two months? 

What of that visit only three days ago when in his 
presence she and Mr. Ko-Yiang had discussed at length 
the propriety of a young married woman visiting an un¬ 
married man? And hadn’t Esther valiantly defended 
the sanctity of the home, marriage ties and all that sort 
of thing, then spoilt it all, just as he was leaving, by saying 
in most caressing fashion: 

“You know you are rather a dear old thing. Per¬ 
sonalities upset arguments—and, well, I’d like time to 
think it over—perhaps one might—for a very short stay— 
under certain circumstances.” 

To which Mr. Ko had replied: “I allow you three 
days; this is plenty to ponder abstract questions of marital 
rights versus wifely privileges.” 

This was the gradual result of Esther’s infatuation for 
the handsome and accomplished millionaire so much dis¬ 
cussed in Shanghai, so envied everywhere, so spoiled by 
the flattery of women. And both had the effrontery to 
ignore his presence as an accident of no importance! 

Despite a sallow skin, the man did not lack physical 


12 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


attraction. His eyes were brilliant; there was nothing 
sinister in their expression; they did not rise grotesquely 
at the corners. He wore a small black mustache and an 
imperial just below his under lip. Nothing but his 
costume distinctly marked him as an Oriental, and yet 
the traveller would have known his origin though he had 
been in European dress; a gravity, an air of mysticism, 
a suggestion of introspection. But superposed upon this 
eastern foundation, venerable and dignified as it was, 
arose the new twentieth century temple for universal 
homage: Wealth. 

Wealth beckoned you from the flashing diamond worn 
upon his thumb; wealth sneered at you from the con¬ 
sciousness of supreme power in the dark glowing eyes; 
wealth breathed its benediction upon you from the im¬ 
palpable aura surrounding that unruffled egoism; wealth 
pervaded the air in every distinct, impatient throb of the 
engines panting at the river bank below, where the house 
boat, regal in its luxury, awaited the orders of its lord 
and master. Wealth—holding in one hand the friend¬ 
ship of Aladdin’s lamp, in the other the hostility of the 
powers of darkness—was approaching the door of the 
humble yellow cottage, while the husband and wife 
watched him, the husband vaguely apprehensive and dis¬ 
quieted; the wife exultant, intoxicated by this newest 
proof of her importance, her power to charm, her op¬ 
portunity to prove the validity of her complaint that she 
was wasted in this nook shut of! from the real life of 
the world. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


13 

She met him with outstretched hands, with a welcome 
that came from the heart; that rang a little more posi¬ 
tively from her lips than the occasion seemed to warrant; 
that gleamed from her eyes with so seductive a charm that 
the guest who had made his million by displaying agility 
coupled with versatility suddenly changed his manner into 
something far warmer and more intimate than he had 
only an instant before intended. 

“Oh, my dear, dear, dear little ladee, I’m so glad— 
so positively joyed to see you—so—what is it? So 
radiant!” 

He stood still to utter this sentiment, solemnly, with 
all the dignity of attendance upon a queen. 

“It must all be due to your coming, Mr. Ko, if I am 
radiant. My husband will tell you that I was anything 
but radiant a few minutes ago.” 

The two men who had thus far only nodded to each 
other, exchanged a questioning glance; one must verify 
or disprove such a statement. 

“If you are not then so radiant a little since—is it 
some sadness which have caused this?” asked Ko-Yiang 
in his literal fashion. 

“Not a sadness,” she replied, “except my husband’s 
disapproval. He is old-fashioned; doesn’t like it because 
I take my morning dip in the river after the Japanese 
style.” 

“Japanese style?” Ko-Yiang repeated, evidently 
puzzled. “You would mean Japan style of the bath—the 
clothing—not any? Alas that my poor boat is so slow 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


14 

to move! Else had I been here in time to—to test the 
European ladee in the custom of Japan/’ 

“I wonder,” thought Peter, “whether she sees that look 
of the tomcat in his horrid eyes! What strange thing's 
women are; they love to set fires and then run away 
and leave them!” 

If Esther had seen the look, it had no terrors for her. 
Her hand rested lightly on the back of a chair. As 
though by accident, Mr. Ko’s hand presently covered 
hers. Peter saw the strong fingers close in two convulsive 
clasps over Esther’s. He saw his wife as though unaware 
of his presence look up with a smile into the dark eyes 
of the guest. Then she nodded assent. “May I pour 
you a cup of tea?” she asked him in what tried to be a 
nonchalant tone. 

“I should be charmed,” he answered. “My country’s 
best beverage—a boon, surely, to mankind.” 

“I must get away to work,” Peter interrupted, too 
brusquely to seem a casual utterance. 

As he went out into the warm sunlight he was think¬ 
ing, “How Esther’s voice shook when she offered that 
cup of tea! And what was the meaning of that signal 
to which she so readily responded? Has she even for¬ 
gotten that she is my wife?” 


CHAPTER III 


The two, standing where they must look across the 
fresh mound surmounted by the yellow coffin, watched the 
retreating figure in its shabby gray suit, until the bank 
hid him for a moment. Then the panting of his engine 
told that the little motor boat had started on its daily 
journey up stream to the iron mines where Peter’s father, 
Jeffrey Landon, had sunk all the money he had saved in 
a lifetime of hard work. 

“Look for your money where you lost it,” Peter knew 
to be an old saying in the stock market. It seemed such 
sound advice that he had determined to act upon it in an 
effort to redeem some of the losses which had left him 
poor. 

But it was not absorption in his day’s work which pre¬ 
vented Peter from looking back at the little yellow house. 
The hand which seized the wheel was cold, the eyes stead¬ 
fastly directed up stream burned like fire. Let them 
watch him, if indeed they would take the trouble! They 
would see no sign that he was jealous; they would never 
know of the lump in his throat which was even then 
choking him! 

The little boat had disappeared in the distance when 
Mr. Ko-Yiang drew from his pocket a black and gold 
lacquered box, opened it and displayed to the girl’s ad- 
15 


i6 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


miring gaze a necklace of carved white jade and red 
gold intricately wrought, beautiful. 

“Very old workmanship,” he said clasping it about her 
neck. “It must have the fitting place to rest. I have 
found such a place now, the very best home for it.” 

“But, Mr. Ko, you are so masterful! I haven’t said 
I would accept such a valuable gift.” 

“No? It is not need to accept—to wear it, so, this 
is all!” 

“But you forget—my husband.” 

“No, no,” he laughed, “not forget—just—” and he 
ended with a snap of his long yellow fingers. 

“Come,” he added. “My house boat waits to take you 
little vacation time to Shanghai. You leave little note 
Mr. Landon, say excuse while I make the little vacation. 
Come back soon—much better.” 

“Do you think he’d believe that about ‘much better’?” 
she flung him as she left the room. He didn’t answer. 
Enough for him that he heard sounds of hurried prepara¬ 
tion from the next room, and knew that wealth and he 
had won another victory. 

Little enough she had to carry, but such as it was she 
stowed in her canvas travelling bag. A note very brief 
and vague—for she was timid now that she faced 
reality—lay on the table directed in her erratic hand to 
Mr. Peter Landon. It was almost an apologetic note, 
beginning; “Peter dear, I had to go—the lure of Shanghai 
and Life!” 

She looked back at it as it lay there on the table; some- 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


17 


thing very nearly related to remorse smote her. She 
hoped poor old Peter would understand that she didn’t 
mean half she had said. 

Poor old Peter! Of course he was a dear old helpless 
thing—and she was coming back to him as soon as she had 
had her fling in Shanghai. 

Once aboard the house boat, who could think of Peter! 
Here was Mr. Ko, a veritable prince. Her own little 
apartment fitted for a queen. Tiffin was served on deck 
under the heavy blue canopy, the air was delightful, the 
food delicious, the wine delirious. Her host spoke but 
little, content to lie upon his cushions and look at her. 
After a while, conscious of his scrutiny, she felt that 
he was looking through her. 

Twice she started to draw him into conversation—that 
searching look frightened her. Twice she desisted for 
lack of courage. At last she got up and walked forward 
into the bow, where perched on a coil or rope she scanned 
the river far ahead; its dark-winged, flat, fishing craft, its 
islands rising like minarets, its canals cut through the 
fields to some distant walled town. 

Before her, a day’s journey, lay the gay, cosmopolitan 
life of Shanghai. Behind her, wealth beamed its blessing 
in the person of Ko-Yiang. Still farther back was Peter 
Landon, her Peter, a thought at which she trembled, for 
she felt guilty and somehow contemptible. 

Ko-Yiang was a man of the world; he didn’t hurry her. 
When, after hours of listless gazing and reverie, she 
turned back to her cabin he still lay outstretched upon the 


i8 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


cushions, absorbed in a book, so completely absorbed that 
he didn't notice her. Peeping through the curtains of 
one of her windows facing aft she could see him later. 
He had fallen asleep. How little she meant to him, after 
all, and how silly she had been to make such a mountain 
of this little unconventional journey. 

“It’s many a mile to Ealing,” she told herself, “and all 
the little nonconformist gossip of my girlhood!” 

Peter presented the only difficulty. Peter was con¬ 
ventional and would be quite upset over it; but a little 
kindness would smooth Peter out. He always yielded 
to treatment. Nine-tenths of life, after all, was involved 
in the gentle art of handling men. 

“It isn’t what happens,” she said to her exceedingly fair 
reflection in a little mirror over her dressing table, “it’s 
the excitement of what may happen. That’s life!” 

Dinner, served at half past eight, was a ceremony. The 
host was at his best. Food and drink combined to stimu¬ 
late his brain, to warm his heart, to give new zest to his 
enjoyment in living. He knew what a woman, a Euro¬ 
pean woman, would relish; he led her on by easy and im¬ 
perceptible steps toward a semi-intoxication, comfortable 
and seductive, for he was a master in allurement. 

At midnight over their wine he was reciting his latest 
adventure in shielding from Japan one of her fellow- 
countrymen and friends who had mixed himself up in a 
Japanese plot to control China. 

“Your friend, Mr. Householder, I have seen him a 
fortnight since in Seoul where he visits with a Korean 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


19 


mountaineer, a giant. And this Mr. Householder has met 
there an American girl, daughter of a missionary. Ah, 
but they two are a wild pair, wild as the mountain goat 
that stops at nothing but the bullet. ,, 

“How good of you! You are rather a dear/’ she ex¬ 
claimed, bending forward to tap the hand that lay ex¬ 
tended on the arm of his bamboo chair. 

The man’s eyes narrowed as he watched her; his hand 
turned and imprisoned hers. The boys, their table deftly 
cleared, had vanished with the dishes. 

“Don’t, please!” Esther whispered, but the man heard 
a stifled quality in her voice rather than the words, and 
continued to hold her hand in his. 

“Poor old Jerry,” she said, half soliloquizing. “I should 
have been wiser to marry him. He frightened me, he 
was so wild. Fool that I was, a wild man was just what 
I wanted; but his terror of a mother thwarted us. The 
old dragon terrified me by a show of false teeth. Is he 
still handsome?” 

“Handsome?” Ko-Yiang repeated as if the word were 
new to him. 

“That man,” she went on ignoring the query, “could 
make love to an iron dog so it would walk off the lawn.” 

Again the man’s eyes narrowed. His wine was doing 
its work thoroughly and well. 

“You were very good to take so much trouble, such a 
journey to please me,” she said. 

“And to serve my country,” he added. “It is 
against my country this plot is made—to put Japanese 


20 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


upon the throne of China, to make new monarchy.” 

“Oh, then, I share with China the credit for your 
journey into Korea.” 

“Yes,” he said, “with my great countree you share, 
dear lady. It is honor to both that I have paid.” 

Casually, almost thoughtlessly, he filled her glass and 
then his own. 

“This Householder, then,” he asked, “have you still 
now a—tenderness—love for him?” 

His long finger tapped the little table between them, 
counting off, it seemed to Esther, the time she took to 
answer so direct a question. 

So she waited, wondering how much he cared. The 
banks were now so dark they seemed miles away. The 
chug-chug of the muffled motor and the ripple of their bow 
as she cut the water, were the only sounds. 

A swinging lamp above their heads gave but faint 
light. Two cigarettes glowed in two bright points 
below it. 

Time? What was time to Mr. Ko-Yiang, representa¬ 
tive of an ancient race, old centuries before so-called 
Christian nations were born! Mr. Ko knew little, cared 
less, for your twentieth century rush. The tiny watch 
on Esther’s wrist had passed midnight an hour ago. Let 
it tick on, let it tick its little life out. Is not Eternity as 
much before us as behind! Mr. Ko would not hurry. 
Even his cigarette burned slowly, controlled by his spirit. 
The taps of his long finger came slowly and more slowly. 

“I never loved him,” she said at last very quietly. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


21 


“He was too—impulsive. A girl doesn’t like violent 
men, at least I never have. I like deference, reserve, 
something to keep you guessing.” 

“Ah!” he sighed, “guessing—favorite American word 
for opinion.” 

“But in English,” she corrected him, “to guess is to 
try to get.” 

“So?” and evidently requiring to think this over he 
lapsed again into silence, broken only when he reached 
forward to whisper: 

“Then I must guess you-” 

“I don’t need guessing,” she laughed, “I’m an open 
book.” 

“If the reading matter be but half so attractive as the 
frontispiece you are what is called Best Seller.” 

“And you a Chinese? Why, you might pass for a 
Frenchman.” 

In the half light she could see the gleam in his dark 
eyes as he parried this: 

“We of China yield to no European in ardor of—of 
admiration of beautiful women.” 

“I thought you were cold—” She was about to say 
more, but apparently he had taken her taunt seriously. 
He had dropped on one knee before her, and his strong 
arms were about her. 

She hoped he wasn’t going to be melodramatic. She 
even thought of telling him that it wasn’t done, except on 
the stage. But his arms were overpowering. He was 
breathing fast. He cared, cared far more than she had 



22 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


thought possible, this man of the world, unruffled, cynical, 
a little spoilt by flattery and wealth. Here he was kneel¬ 
ing at her feet, and suffocating with the warmth of his 
emotion. 

And he was very attractive in his big strength, his ap¬ 
parent effort at self-control, here in this very dim light! 

She wished that she had’drawn the line just before that 
last glass of wine. An inner, hypercritical self was sitting 
in contemptuous judgment of her, telling her that she had 
lost her common sense as well as all sense of propriety, 
or she would make that man get up and stop. He was 
actually hugging, and still she seemed to herself to be 
paralyzed, to be looking on while another couple on the 
after deck of a palatial house boat—drew very close 
together. 

“Love has no nationality.” He was whispering with 
only a trace of foreign accent: “Oh, but I love you!” 

The critical, subconscious self was scornful of such a 
declaration to a married woman. 

Ah! but that self could not feel the beating of his heart 
or hear his labored breath. And that self had not been 
drinking his wine. Consequently inside her head no 
pounding as of a sinful spirit trying to break out. 

Tenderly he lifted her, bore her, unresisting as a little 
child, into her own cabin, where was no light save that 
vouchsafed by the swinging lamp outside on the deck. 

The rhythmic beat of the engine, the rippling splash of 
the river, these drowsy sounds she heard, and from down 
below the weird laugh of a coolie who had won at cards. 


CHAPTER IV 


“Behold Ko-Yiang in the character of Anthony!” ex¬ 
claimed an habitue of the Shanghai Club, next day at 
noon. “But who is Cleopatra?” 

From the windows of the club house on the Bund a 
little group of men had recognized the palatial house boat 
gliding along the water front, had seen a woman reclin¬ 
ing under the great awning on the after deck, while the 
princely owner, recumbent in a long rattan chair, was 
reading, oblivious of all else save the cigarette which clung 
to his lower lip, and brightened perceptibly when he gave it 
his attention. 

Was this the woman’s thought as she lay there so still, 
watching the man who could give like a prince, who could 
take as one entitled to every desire of his heart? 

The harbor was crowded with small craft; junks, fish¬ 
ing boats, sampans, flat house boats, the only habitation 
of families, laboriously poled down by canal and river 
to dispose of their load of garden truck in the great mart 
of Shanghai; more flat boats piled high with soja bean 
cake, goat skins, tea chests, matting, sacks of rice, or 
strange casks that smelt of sour wine. 

At the stern of each craft a strong armed coolie in blue 
cotton drawers pushed and piloted his boat with a long 
23 


24 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


bamboo pole, or standing shoved two great oars from 
him. Shouting in many keys filled the air with strange 
tone and weird cadence. Tiny children scrambled about 
on deck in imminent peril of their lives, while their mothers 
cooked a frugal meal over the little pot of coals. Far 
more laughter than cursing as each strove for position 
along one of the many wharves. 

Outside in the stream a huge yellow steamer with a 
single smokestack lay at anchor, the lazy stream of smoke 
from her funnel telling that she was getting ready to sail. 

Close by, anchored fore and aft to prevent her swinging 
against one of her neighbors, a blue funnel steamer rocked 
placidly, while a fleet of sailing craft with blue and yellow 
lateen sails bobbed beside her, dividing among them her 
cargo of rubber, tobacco and sugar from Batavia. 

A gay group of foreigners at the jetty bade good-by to 
friends aboard the little transport Victoria just starting 
for Woosung at the river’s mouth to meet a great Pacific 
liner too big to come up the river. 

Along the Bund dashed pony carriages; rickshas drawn 
by coolies darted here and there; native porters in pairs 
bore huge burdens suspended from their shoulders. 
Foreigners, English, Americans, French, German, mingled 
with the natives, while at every street corner a tall tur- 
baned Sikh controlled the traffic, awed the unruly and 
added the dignity of his race and kind to an already bril¬ 
liant and varied scene. 

Slowly the house boat of Ko-Yiang made her way to 
her landing stage. A motor car of English make awaited 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


25 

them, the Chinese at the wheel conspicuous in a blue 
denim livery with collar and cuffs of bright yellow. 

Cautiously along the Bund and its motley crowd, off 
into Nanking Road, where the tall Sikh on duty by the 
Palace Hotel saluted Wealth and let them go on; then 
out along Bubbling Well Road by the Race Track until 
they turned in by the arched gate in a brick wall and 
drew up before the heavy oak door of a low brick house 
standing in a garden brilliant with flowering shrubs. 

An instant they were scrutinized through a tiny lat¬ 
tice; then the door opened noiselessly, and a solemn man 
wearing white pantaloons and a long blue shirt bowed 
low as—in silence—he scanned the master’s face to learn 
his mood. 

Three words the master spoke, words unfamiliar to his 
guest, but the man pressed a button. In the distance a 
bell buzzed twice, then twice again. 

“This way, Missy, please!” said the man and led the 
way up a short flight of stairs. 

“I wish I hadn’t been so confoundedly lazy and had 
learnt more of your dreadful language,” Esther called 
back from the stairs. 

“I thought you had mastered that as completely as you 
have me,” Ko-Yiang answered without looking up from 
his sorting of the pile of letters on a teakwood stand. 

“And I found,” she continued, accepting his com¬ 
parison, “that both had so many characters I was lost.” 

One cannot argue to advantage with one who is mount¬ 
ing a strange flight of stairs. To Ko-Yiang there was 


26 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


some subtle meaning hidden in her final word, but he pre¬ 
tended not to hear it. Like many of his countrymen he 
was in the habit of taking his own time to answer ques¬ 
tions—for questions steeped in the history of a very old 
land, often answer themselves. “This has happened be¬ 
fore,” is the native attitude; “what was the answer 
then?” 

Upstairs a boy was deftly arranging a spacious, richly 
furnished apartment with a view to Missy’s comfort. 
Clothes, toilet articles, everything! “But how did anyone 
know 1 was coming!” Esther exclaimed. “Could it be 
that he was so sure?” 

Books, English magazines, English newspapers lay on 
the table. Noiselessly the boy came and went. Too 
noiselessly the woman thought as she was dressing for 
dinner, but she knew the ways of the Orient and dis¬ 
regarded him along with the ornaments and the brass 
gong. 

At eight they dined. A soft, subdued light, their places 
laid at one end of the long, narrow table. Two boys well 
used to their master’s ways, anticipated every want. She 
must indeed have been hard to please who had not found 
the food delicious, its cooking the perfection of the art. 
The glasses seemed to possess the magic secret of re¬ 
filling themselves. After many such refillings, charity 
toward all seemed to pour out with the wine, a charity 
which caused Esther to see that all men are brothers. 

“This Jerry Householder whom I have seen at Seoul,” 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


27 

Mr. Ko said, toying with his glass. “You have told me 
he offers you once—marriage ?” 

“Yes, that was long ago—in England.” 

“And it was because he has the wild oats,” he asked, 
“that you refuse him?” 

She nodded, wondering at his drift. 

“Wild oats are not good family breakfast food,” he re¬ 
marked. “It is a figure of the speech to mean the ladies, 
is it not? Oh, a strange people, the English, living by 
ancient Jewish precepts! Here we have wild rice—quite 
le-gitimate, is it not so?” 

His eyes were twin sun glasses, burning her. He 
took her hand and she did not resist. Are not all men 
brothers? And how little it cost to please this Aladdin 
who could work miracles if he were so inclined. What 
is life but what friends make it! Oh, yes, decidedly one 
must not be narrow! 

“Poor old Peter!” 

She was vaguely conscious of having spoken her 
thoughts aloud, but Mr. Ko only shrugged his shoulders. 
Husbands were of little account, but somehow the tall 
figure of Householder kept coming to his mind. That 
romantic creature who had risked his neck by mixing 
himself up in a petty plot of a few Japanese officials, must 
appeal to a woman of her type. 

Ko-Yiang was jealous of the man whom she had re¬ 
fused, so jealous that he resolved then and there to bring 
the two together that he might watch them, might see 


28 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


with his own eyes whether he or the dashing Englishman 
came first with her. 

His grip tightened upon the little hand within his own. 
Possession must be reenforced by restraint, and that by 
inhibitions. Nothing but servitude could satisfy such a 
nature, and servitude would never be enough because one 
cannot be sure that he has mastered the thoughts. 

“You care more for him now. Is it not so?” he asked. 

“More for Peter? More than what?” 

“I spoke not of Peter,” he answered with a little laugh 
—“of that other.” 

“What? Jerry? Why, I don’t know. I haven’t seen 
him since just after the war. He came home, you know, 
from Japan to enter the army. Oh, he was stunning, 
stunning in his uniform!” 

“So? And he has kissed you, this soldier?” 

“I don’t remember,” she answered, now quite enjoying 
the evident jealousy. 

A moment the narrow dark eyes rose at the corners 
changing the man’s expression from fond indulgence to 
something less attractive. His hand mechanically sought 
the gong, struck it one blow. The boy must have been 
standing just outside the curtained doorway, for on the 
instant he was behind his master’s chair. 

“Writing tablet,” said the master. This familiar word 
Esther understood, but not the reason for it, nor did she 
know that he wrote upon the tablet a telegram to be 
sent to Jeremiah Householder at Seoul, bidding him come 
at once to Shanghai where he might learn further news of 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


29 

importance concerning that little band of Japanese official 
plotters. 

Had she known, had she understood that trait in the 
Oriental character which finds pleasure in voluntary suf¬ 
fering, her subsequent career might have been very differ¬ 
ent from what it was. 

The message sent, Mr. Ko once more devoted himself 
to the pleasure of his guest. Liqueurs were brought and 
fondness with them. 

“You are exceeding beautiful,” he exclaimed. “You 
know this?” 

“I know that you flatter like a European,” she an¬ 
swered. “Men are all alike.” 

“Four days hence I will show you it is not so,” he 
insisted. 

“Quite Chinese,” she said. “In ninety-six hours you 
expect to find an answer.” 

When half that time had expired Ko-Yiang and his 
lady guest were the centre of attraction at the races. 
The afternoon was perfect, the ponies not more on edge 
than their gentlemen riders. All Shanghai was there; 
the betting ran unusually high, and none outdid Ko-Yiang 
in backing his favorites, but the appearance of so pretty 
a woman with a Chinese of so well known character was 
enough to divert attention from mere racing. 

As one of the leading matrons put it: “My number 
one boy says she is staying at his house. Husband not 
with her. Well, of course—! But she is pretty!” 

Mr. Ko-Yiang had so much money that people, even 


30 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


the best, were nice to him. He introduced Esther to such 
as gave him the opportunity, and they were cordial, even 
if skeptical. Society in heathen lands is more Christian 
than it is at home. And Esther, her head turned by so 
much attention, was having the most delightful time of her 
life. No one knew that it was with Ko-Yiang’s money 
that she bet so heavily on the gray Mongolian Griffin, but 
she won, and her little hand bag bulged with the notes of 
the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank. She could buy a 
car with her winnings, or that necklace that had won her 
heart in a jeweler’s window on Nanking Road. Decidedly 
this was life! 

Peter? Well, Peter mustn’t expect a woman of her 
style to bury herself in the country. Life is too short— 
why not do something while you can! 


CHAPTER V 


What of that Jerry Householder whom Esther had 
characterized as “a wild man”; whom Ko-Yiang had in¬ 
terviewed in the Korean capital as an act of patriotic duty; 
of whom he had since become so jealous that he had 
sent for him as one forces on a tight shoe for the joy 
of relief when it is taken off again? 

Jerry Householder had first come to the East fifteen 
years ago as clerk in a Yokohama tea office. 

Perhaps if the Reverend Obadiah Householder of 
Birmingham had known that his first born son would be 
his only child he might not have visited him with the 
prophetic name of Jeremiah, a calamity palliated before 
he was a week old by the abbreviation ‘Jerry’—for the 
nurse insisted that you couldn’t call a tiny bit of a boy 
by a name big enough for a battleship. So Jerry he had 
begun, and Jerry he had remained. 

His career at Oxford had hardly begun when it was 
over. One of the dons, replying to a letter from the 
Reverend Obadiah relative to his son’s habits, wrote: 
“You speak despairingly of your boy’s failings. My dear 
Sir, he hasn’t all the vices. I have never heard of his 
singing.” 

On receipt of this epistle, Mrs. Householder had tried 
3i 


32 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


to insist that the last word was “sinning,” but the weight 
of evidence was against her. 

The day of Jerry’s departure for the East, which was 
the last time he ever saw either of his parents, his father 
gave him a small volume of “Prayers Appropriate to Err¬ 
ing Youth” which not long afterward found eternal rest 
in the Pacific Ocean. His mother shed a few ineffectual 
tears as she kissed him, wondering, as she had always 
wondered, why children didn’t grow up in the way they 
should go without putting their parents to the annoyance 
of training them. 

With the exception of his three years of war, Jerry 
had continued to live in Japan for almost fifteen years 
until one day when on a visit to Shizuoka he had hap¬ 
pened upon the beginnings of a plot to put a Japanese upon 
the throne of China. 

In his lack of experience he failed to realize that little 
plots are constantly being hatched in all countries by radi¬ 
cal hotheads and that they die a natural death from 
exhaustion. 

Jerry thought he had hit upon something big, and he 
went ahead without a care as to what might come to 
him who ventured to interfere. 

He was staying at the Daitokwan Hotel. A funeral 
procession was passing. Six men in white bore the body 
on a litter of cedar surmounted by a pagoda-shaped can¬ 
opy. Men and women followed, walking by twos, the 
men wearing huge imitation flowers. Others came with 
wreaths of camellia and the pink japonica. At a little 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


33 


neighboring temple, reached by a long flight of stone 
steps, he could see worshippers on their knees before the 
altar and the image of a god. Candles burned on the 
altar. There was a vessel of incense and a bell which 
the priest struck to rouse the god from sleep or reverie, 
that the prayers might not go unheard. 

“How much like home!” Jerry thought, but he had 
never been confirmed and was not a fair judge. 

Behind the funeral a woman came, the thin cleats of 
her wooden shoes sounding a high “clink” after the con¬ 
fused clumping of the procession. 

Seeing a tall blond foreigner on the porch of the Daito- 
kwan she paused, for he had looked and smiled with ap¬ 
proval, it seemed to her. Was it her new sky blue flow¬ 
ered kimono with its brilliant red obi, or was it her 
mincing gait—or was he attracted by her pretty face? 
She knew that it was pretty. Did not her polished, steel 
mirror tell her so, many times each day? 

The stranger sauntered forth into the street. He bent 
himself at right angles in true Japanese fashion, and 
she did likewise. Many times he rose to the perpendicu¬ 
lar and fell again into a right angle, his hand over his 
heart; and as many times did she likewise according to the 
polite usage of the country, she watching the while fur¬ 
tively to see when her superior should tire of the ceremony 
of bowing. 

“Have I the pleasure to address the wife of my friend, 
Mr. Itpodo ?” he asked in excellent Japanese. 

“You do me great honor,” she replied. “My husband 


34 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


holds no such exalted position as great tea merchant, 
Itpodo. He has humble government position.” 

“Ah? But perhaps you will confer pleasure of your 
company for tiffin which I am about to order.” 

She looked about her to make sure that no spying eyes 
detected this irregular behavior, then quickly followed him 
into the little dining room completely furnished with a 
neat straw matting, a tiny table one foot high, and two 
little mats. 

Latticed windows covered with white paper let in the 
light and prevented distracting sights. 

They knelt facing each other, sitting back on their 
heels on the two little mats. 

They talked of things Japanese. And presently over 
the Yawa-rakani (tender chicken) and hot sake served in 
little cups frequently refilled by the little maid who, when 
serving, squatted beside the table, Jerry’s guest expanded 
in the laudable desire to please. The sake doubtless help¬ 
ing, the lady grew confidential and told of a plot in which 
her husband was involved, to rehabilitate China by putting 
a Japanese on the throne. She told it with pride, while 
Jerry plied her with more sake and listened, breathless 
with excitement. 

The plotters were to meet next day in Kyoto to learn 
from the leader how and when to act. Meantime the two 
had eaten raw Tai fish dipped in a sauce resembling strong 
tea, they had toyed with pink cakes, sticky, of an unbe¬ 
lievable sweetness. So much sake had set their heads 
whirling, but Jerry knew that he meant to keep that date 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


35 


with the conspirators on the morrow, so he steered the 
conversation away from it, that she might not suspect any 
such intention. 

“Subdivision is the key to Japan/’ he told her. 

“Is it ?” she said, finding it difficult to see him clearly. 
“I didn’t notice it. Subdivision? You English are so 
much more attentive than our men. No one ever gave me a 
treat like this. It’s the kind of division I like.” 

Jerry, who wasn’t quite sure what she had said, waxed 
eloquent: 

“It’s the key. You never see a big field here, always 
a lot of tiny fields separated by ditches or hedges. The 
side hill is terraced and cut into patches with mud walls 
to make rice paddies. And loads of merchandise in the 
streets are never in bulk, always cut up into packages, 
often cedar boxes. Even coals are in pretty tubs or bas¬ 
kets. I love to see the men who draw huge loads on drays 
with two great creaking wheels. And the little stallions 
that are so powerful in their gaudy trappings all bright 
brass and red leather. Nothing is heavy, crushing, color¬ 
less as at home.” 

“Then you like my country, my people?” 

“They are children,” he answered, “which in Christian 
religion means they are fit for the kingdom of Heaven.” 

The Scriptural allusion she understood not at all; the 
smile that went with it she could fathom. Rising she 
seated herself across his knees. Yes, she had rightly 
translated the smile. The little maid, nothing shocked by 
friendly habits, carried away the table, the sake went 


36 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

with it. By and by the light went; the pretty patterns no 
longer showed white in the latticed windows. Quiet held 
the streets that in the afternoon had been so full of life. 

The little woman who was not the wife of Mr. Itpodo 
rose to her feet, went softly down the stairs, slipped her 
little feet into the waiting wooden shoes and was gone, 
clinking the high note of her sex and class as the thin 
cleats struck the pavement. 


CHAPTER VI 


Three jinrikshas travelled across the city of Kyoto at 
a rate of speed possible only to the fastest coolies in the 
service. No public stand supplied these three so spot¬ 
less, shining carriages or the coolies each in different livery. 

Fast as they went, there was no attempt at competition, 
only to keep up with the leader, for in that land of 
formality, of ceremony, of caste, the high official goes 
ahead, the next in order follows, as surely as the letters 
of the alphabet. Where the road winds up Tea Pot Hill, 
the stout old gentleman in the lead was the only one of 
the three whose dignity or age made it necessary that he 
should continue to ride. The other two dismounted, their 
coolies thus being free to assist the leader by pushing. 

Nearly at the top of the hill stood a little shop close 
to the road, much like all the other shops, open in front, 
disclosing lacquer wares, or vegetables, or rows of new 
wooden sandals. In this one, attractive demijohns and 
huge blue and white jars might be seen in rows on the 
floor, and seated on a small platform two men cowering 
over the hibachi, or pot of coals, warmed their hands and 
furtively watched the road. 

The fat man alighted and, followed by his two com¬ 
panions, entered the little shop. The two on the platform 
37 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


38 

rose and came forward to meet their visitors. The cere¬ 
mony of bowing began and lasted through several minutes 
of silence, broken only when the fat man wearied of it. 
Greetings referring to good health, weather, long life, pros¬ 
perity and the Emperor’s favor were then exchanged. 
Next came tea in tiny cups, excellent tea and little sweet 
rice cakes. The fat man said: “In reference to certain 
business of great importance to the Kingdom we have 
come from Tokyo to advise you.” 

Jerry Householder in a corner behind the great blue 
jars of sake, of oil and sour wine, where he had hidden 
hours before, heard every word of the discussion which 
followed, heard the beginning of plans intended to place 
Japan upon the throne of China, and Jerry knew that if 
he were discovered there he would never leave the shop 
alive. Not yet had he discovered that it was not the 
Japanese government, only a small radical faction, which 
hatched and nurtured this little plot. He could see the 
fat man; there was a fascination in watching his long thin 
mustache and thinner beard as he questioned the others 
and outlined plans which were to be definitely formulated 
in a committee of eight to meet a week later in the garden 
of the Ginkakuji or Silver temple. 

This, then, was but a preliminary. If Jerry were to 
get at the real secret he must not only escape detection 
now; he must contrive to be present at the great dis¬ 
closure. 

Twice he smothered a cough. It seemed that they 
would never go; but the interview ended, as all interviews 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


39 


must, and, while the two supposed shopkeepers bade their 
guests farewell out in the road, Jerry went out through 
a back window unobserved. 

Ginkakuji, one of the oldest temples in Japan, dating 
back to the thirteenth century, is famous for its garden, 
its monastery and the room in which the Cha^no-yu or 
Tea Ceremony originated. Ostensibly to celebrate this 
function, the eight conspirators were to assemble. 

The ninth, Jerry Householder, arrived two hours be¬ 
fore the appointed time, gave a liberal fee to the young 
and shabby priest at the door, sat down leisurely on the 
cloister steps, and began sketching a stunted black pine 
trimmed into the likeness of a huge duck. The priest 
watched him at his work for half an hour, then, tiring of 
it, went inside and disappeared. Jerry pocketed his sketch 
book, stretched himself to show any chance observer that 
he had had enough even of Ginkakuji, and went out. No 
watchful priest was at the door. Stepping back cau¬ 
tiously he tiptoed to the angle where the cloister joins 
the little hall of Cha-no-yu. There was space to hide a 
man in the ancient rafters overhead, but a most uncom¬ 
fortable perch he found it, thick with the dust of centuries; 
and by no means a complete concealment if any searcher 
directly underneath should chance to look above his 
head. 

The old man was the first to arrive. He looked fatter 
than ever, viewed from above as he kicked off his sandals 
at the door, and, summoning the priest, instructed him to 
allow none except his committee to enter. There were 


40 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


the usual tiresome greetings. Then, by lying flat, he could 
get a glimpse of Cha-no-yu, could see the frothy, green 
ceremonial tea served in brown bowls, watch the eight 
backs as they bent towards the altar in unison with their 
leader while outstretched arms extended the steaming 
bowls before them, or straightening up, raised them high 
above their heads. After each manoeuvre a draught from 
the bowl gradually lowered its tide, leaving a green scum 
of the powdered leaf adhering to the side. The disap¬ 
pearance of the tea was the signal for sweet wafers and 
more ceremonial, the eucharist of Buddha it seemed to the 
watcher astride the ancient rafters. Endless these serv¬ 
ices; what a fool to waste his time and risk his life for 
this! Then flashed into his mind Byron’s verse: “And 
whispering I will ne’er consent—consented.” For sud¬ 
denly they were in the midst of it, the fat old man was 
pouring forth his story in a torrent of explosions which 
from the rapidity and fury of their ejection occasionally 
back-fired in fierce invective against foreigners. But 
through it all ran a well defined, carefully ordered scheme. 

“You have seen,” he said, “how well we have accom¬ 
plished in Cho-sen. That which was an isolated country, 
well named the Hermit Kingdom, we have, since we took 
it from the Russians in 1906 of the foreigners’ calendar, 
opened to travel and commerce. A glorious opportunity 
for Nippon to expand. It is our purpose now to extend 
our operations into China, to gain complete control of 
her vast resources, to work her mines and develop her 
agriculture.” 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


4i 


He then unfolded the plans in detail, giving a list of 
the men most prominent in the movement. Jerry had 
long since acquainted his government with the name and 
rank of the fat man himself, but had been unable to 
learn who were the others in authority. In a pause for 
breath one asked : ‘‘What of the America ?” 

“America!” the old man exclaimed. “Look yonder at 
the Buddha. Does he smile ? He is laughing at America 
in the foreign affairs. It is—not!” 

Jerry’s head swam with the things he had to conceal 
by code and cable home to the foreign office. But first 
he must get away from Ginkakuji. 

The committee of eight had gone. The shabby priest 
removed the empty bowls, ate the scraps of cake remain¬ 
ing, locked up the ancient room of Tea Ceremony. His 
bare feet pattered along the cloister, passed under the lis¬ 
tener still clinging to his perch. From a far off room 
inside a voice was droning in a minor key. Some ponder¬ 
ous beetles close to Jerry’s head took up the refrain and 
bumped it clumsily against the roof. The air was stifling. 
He could hardly breathe; his long legs were stiff and 
numb. These trifles, not the danger, were in his mind as 
he swung himself down and limped toward the gate. The 
priest followed by a young novitiate came through the 
monastery door just in time to see the Englishman’s 
descent. 

“None may know of our coming here. It is for Nip¬ 
pon,” the fat man had told him. This foreigner had 
overheard something unfit for English ears. Of that the 


42 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


priest felt sure. He must be stopped; at any cost he 
must be held until Authority should decide. He darted 
by the foreigner and forbade him the door. “Go back!” 
he said in polite Japanese. “I have questions to ask.” 
To the boy he whispered: “Quick, the guard,” and let 
him slip out through the narrowest possible opening. 

But the Englishman did not go back. His strong hands 
seized the priest and flung him aside; opened the heavy 
door and, when he was out, closed it again with a bang. 

As Jerry Householder ran he could hear the priest com¬ 
ing on behind him bellowing “Sacrilege” and, when that 
proved ineffectual to stop him, “Murder!” 

By this time a crowd was in pursuit. He dodged down 
a narrow street, nearly colliding with a bull that hauled a 
mighty load of Hokaido cheese in cedar boxes. The 
driver walked by one of the high wheels holding a rope 
that ran to the bull’s horns and thence to a wooden ring 
through his nose. It seemed strange to Jerry that he 
should take in these particulars as he ran, that he should 
note the animal’s collar of plaited rope, the ornate saddle 
and gaudy little blanket under it. The great dray almost 
filled the street as it swung to turn the corner. It shut 
off his pursuers for an instant, giving him time to dart 
into the doorway of a lacquer factory. The crowd swept 
on toward the street of bazaars, but two of the police 
stopped where the fugitive had disappeared. They spoke 
his name, and one said: “He has been on our list long 
since. I have known him these ten years. His home is 
in Shizuoka.” 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


43 


Inside the factory men and girls in the little dimly 
lighted rooms scraped the well seasoned cedar, spread the 
sticky poisonous gum of the lacquer tree, or shoved away 
in the dark recesses of the drying closet trays of half- 
finished products for their ten days’ drying process. All 
the twenty stages of patient care necessary for lasting re¬ 
sults were here in process. He could see the skilled hands 
at their work. Jerry mounted the narrow stairs. A tiny 
room at the top where colors were kept and carving tools 
lay on the bench held but one living creature, a black and 
white rooster, whose tail feathers hung from the lofty 
perch on which he sat fully seven feet to the floor. Jerry 
sat down on a low box behind the bench. If any one 
should find him there he could be waiting for Mr. Nogara, 
the proprietor. But no one came. 

Twilight, and the rooster settled himself for the night. 
Not so Jerry Householder. Darkness was his only hope, 
and under its friendly protection he stole out once more 
into the crowded street, sauntered until he reached the 
main road west, then hurried on as fast as he could walk 
to cover the twenty-seven miles to Osaka. 

Near midnight, faint from hunger, having travelled 
two thirds of the distance, he entered a tiny village hoping 
to find food. Happily in the knowledge that his mission 
was dangerous, he had brought a good supply of money. 

A light shone through the front window of one house. 
Confident in the lure of silver he was about to knock on 
the frail door when a voice within the house said quite 
distinctly in Japanese: 


44 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


“Agama said he speaks good Japanese. You can tell 
him by that. But I hold that he would not leave Kyoto. 
They will have him by morning.” 

“Huh!” came by way of assent from two others, but 
Jerry Householder had heard enough. They might or 
might not be talking of him. Tired as he was, this vil¬ 
lage was no place for him; on he plodded, though at a 
slower pace, for he must reach a city where he was little 
known, then by some means drop out of sight. 

Morning found him at breakfast in Osaka just as the 
thousands of factory hands were going to work. Then 
for two hours he slept in a shed until a dispute just out¬ 
side roused him. Fearing that it would not be safe to take 
the train he set out again on the great western road, this 
time determined to conceal his knowledge of the Japanese 
language. But none questioned him in the twenty miles 
to Kobe. There to make himself appear a tourist he 
bought a bag, a few toilet articles and a complete set of 
brushes, paint tubes and a couple of small canvases. 
Painting was an art which he had hitherto admired only 
from a distance. It might serve to throw his pursuers 
off the scent. 

On the train between Kobe and the western province of 
Yamaguchi he was painfully aware that he was being 
watched. A zealous official came into the car to look him 
over at least half a dozen times, finally accosting him in 
Japanese: 

“How far are you going?” 

But Jerry was prepared, and only looked puzzled. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


45 


The question was repeated. 

“Pardon me,” Jerry said, “I am English. I speak only 
English and French.” 

“Do you not speak even a little Japanese? Not a few 
words?” asked the official, apparently, so Jerry thought, 
to trap him into a reply. 

The Englishman only stared at him, and that stare was 
good enough as acting to land him unmolested in Moji. 
The short journey from there to Shimonoseki he made by 
boat, hiring a fisherman to take him. As they lay in Moji 
harbor a big steamer close to them was coaling, and Jerry 
forgot his danger, watching the process by hand labor. 
Sixteen barges had made fast to the ship on each side. 
Through her open bulkheads from each of the thirty-two 
barges poured a steady stream of soft coal in flat, half¬ 
bushel baskets passed from hand to hand by a swarm of 
men and women standing on stagings which, like huge 
but flimsy staircases, led up from each barge. For six 
hours they worked at terrific speed, in that time loading 
no less than three thousand tons of coal. What clothing 
they wore was of the coarsest burlap and cotton, but the 
endurance they displayed would rank them with gods and 
goddesses. Their good nature through the trying hours 
set an example for gods and men alike. And when the 
work was done, out came the tiny stove. Tea was made; 
dried fish and dirty bread proved an appetizing meal. 
Sails were hoisted, and in a lively breeze one by one they 
scudded for the shore, men working while the tired 
women huddled in the stern. What an energetic race, 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


46 

this! What capacity to work, to endure, to persevere! 
These were qualities to win Jerry’s admiration. 

Though he far overestimated the power of the plotters 
whom he had outwitted, he was not wrong in assuming 
that they had good reason for getting him out of the 
way before he could report what he had learned to the 
Japanese government. 

Just as the Shiragi Maru blew her whistle and cast off 
for the rough passage across the hundred and twenty miles 
to Fusan, Jerry left his boatman asleep in one of the little 
shops that crowd the fish stalls facing the quay. The man 
was drunk enough to lie where he was till morning. That 
comforted Jerry, who was the last passenger to get 
aboard; it meant temporary safety. The hundreds of 
small craft huddled at the docks blended till their masts 
were a tiny forest. The winding entrance to the harbor 
between lovely wooded hills soon shut out the town. Ja¬ 
pan was a thing of the past. Jerry Householder was be¬ 
ginning a new life. 


CHAPTER VII 


Where the single line of railway winds north from 
Fusan through the great mountain gorges of Korea, the 
mighty intruder came roaring, shrieking its challenge of 
civilization to a region over which a few years ago the 
tiger and the leopard roamed unmolested. For a mo¬ 
ment clatter and roar were stifled in a deep gully; then 
out they burst with renewed fury, determined to shatter 
every ancient tradition of the Hermit Kingdom. At the 
semblance of a crossing, where the constant tread of bul¬ 
locks’ feet had worn a path from valley to mountain slope, 
stood a huge man dressed in the coarse, unbleached cotton 
of his country. With hands clasped behind his back, feet 
wide apart, his big yellow features relaxing not a muscle, 
he waited for the coming of the evening train. 

Far up the stony slope of a gray mountain, on the edge 
of a wild ravine, a stone hut perched and clung on its 
little shelf of rock. Behind it a low wall surrounded the 
tiny enclosure where was a shed for stabling bullocks. 
Rough thatch covered the roofs. The door and narrow 
window of the house were black and forbidding. 

So much could be seen from the train as it puffed and 
snorted, slowing down to climb the steep grade. One 
might then have noted that the man’s white frock, belted 
at the waist, fell almost to his knees, that his trousers, 
47 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


48 

wide above, were folded and strapped about his ankles. 
Black hair and a glossy black beard cut square lent stern¬ 
ness and dignity to an aspect otherwise ferocious. 

Only the man and the hut, apparently his home. No 
other sign of living thing save these and the path at his 
feet. These were seen from the train and carefully noted. 
Yet other eyes marked the giant Korean as he stood at 
the lonely crossing; other eyes saw the train owned and 
operated by the Japanese Government, steaming north on 
its daily journey over the new Cho-sen Railway to the 
ancient walled city of Seoul. 

A man and a woman, silent, breathless, peered through 
the tiny, black window of the hut at the white figure far 
below them. The man’s hand rested on the rough stone 
window sill, and the woman, a slender girl of sixteen 
years, leaned against his strong shoulder, clasping his arm 
in both her shapely hands. 

From the rear platform of the last coach two Japanese 
hailed the Korean in his native tongue: 

“Have you seen aught of an Englishman, fair, tall and 
spare, who has just come over from Shimonoseki? There 
is a reward.” 

The big man shook his head, uttering a stolid “No!” 
and showed no slightest interest in their quest or the 
quarry. 

On rolled the train, the two still standing on the rear 
platform, scanning the country through field glasses, 
narrowly watching the hut on the mountain side and the 
mighty Korean standing like a statue at the crossing. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


49 


But no stir of life about the hut rewarded their scrutiny; 
scarcely more could they discover in the solitary giant not 
deigning so much as to turn his head to follow them. 

“What now?” exclaimed the Englishman whom they 
sought, “Why does he stand there? Look, Yisan!” 

The girl, unable to understand a word he spoke, caught 
something of his meaning, for she scowled at the distant 
back of her husband, immovable, imperturbable, waiting 
where the train had found and left him. Then she smiled, 
gazing eagerly into the Englishman’s anxious eyes, re¬ 
vealing the dark loveliness of her own and the full red 
lips that parted over the whitest of teeth. 

“Sin Chang sees danger,” he added. 

The girl smiled yet more enticingly, held up her face 
to his and whispered: 

“Kees me, Anglisman!” 

The man frowned and put her from him, but not 
roughly, for the temptation was great. 

The last faint throb of the engine died in the distance. 
Silence once more; solitude, the dark gray sides of moun¬ 
tains ages old, crumbling away in countless slides of 
broken stone, rough valleys where stunted fir trees told 
of an unfertile soil, and Sin Chang, turning to climb the 
steep path, went slowly towards his home, his bride and 
the guest for whose safety he was risking all that he had, 
a giant amidst the giant mountains, mysterious, impenetra¬ 
ble as the solitude itself. 

The man and the girl came out from the hut and 
stood on the little ledge of rock beside it. 


5o 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


Against the sombre background of rock and scrubby 
firs Yisan’s green silk coat, a patch of vivid color, caught 
the Korean’s eye, but his scowl betrayed how little he was 
pleased to see it. 

Why had she put on the coat reserved for visits to the 
great city? Why was she idle when it was already time 
to take the two wooden pails, and, following the path be¬ 
hind the house, through the narrow pass, descend into the 
little plateau where Sin Chang pastured his goats ? Milk¬ 
ing time, and Yisan wearing her silk coat buttoned like a 
cape around her neck, the sleeves dangling unused, after 
the fashion of city women! 

“Pah! And the foreigner but forty-eight hours in my 
house! She has eyes already for this yellow-haired Eng¬ 
lishman, she whose father promised her to me when she 
was but ten years old, and made that promise good only 
two months since. Do I not own the girl? Is she so 
dull, then, that she thinks I have no eyes to see?” 

His thought flew back to the passing of the evening 
train two days before, when he had stood to watch it, to 
catch any word of news that might be flung him. He re¬ 
called the Englishman whom he had spied at the rear of 
the train and had surprised by hailing him in fairly good 
English: 

“Anglish ? Glad to see. Like to talk Anglish. 
Good-by.” 

To which the English had said: “Hello! Is that your 
house up there?” 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


51 

Sin Chang called back: “Yes, my house. Come 
see me.” 

Two hours later, when it was growing dark, there had 
come a knock at his door and Sin Chang flinging it open, 
barring the passage with his mighty bulk, had recognized 
the Englishman come so soon to accept the proffered hos¬ 
pitality. 

Jerry Householder, long, lean and sinewy, looked up un¬ 
til he met the eyes six inches above his own; looked down 
to make sure that the Korean and he were standing on the 
same level; then with an admiring smile extended his 
hand: 

“I took you at your word,” he said, as the giant ac¬ 
knowledged the greeting with a mighty handshake. 

“I take it a pleasure. Yisan,” indicating the pretty 
girl who came forward from the dark little room, “she is 
my new wife. Only two moons I marry, bringing her 
from the home of my friend in Taiden by the hot springs 
of Jujyu.” 

The visitor noted that the girl’s hand was slender, not 
roughened by hard work; it seized his with a cordiality 
that was almost hunger. 

Soon a light was brought, a smoky oil lamp without a 
chimney, and Yisan laid three plates on the table, and 
goats’ milk in a stone jug, a cold roast that had the tang 
of wild game, and coarse bread from home-milled rye. 
The remains of a few faggots still glowed on the hearth; 
the scant wood-pile bore mute but constant testimony to 


52 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


the labor of transporting fuel over the mountains on the 
backs of bullocks. 

Almost in silence the three gathered about the narrow 
table, ate their meal, while the girl frankly admired the 
gentle foreigner, and Sin Chang, after his own ponderous 
fashion, took note of the newcomer, of his dress and man¬ 
ner, but, above all, the expression of his eyes. He saw, 
though he betrayed by no sign that he saw, how his young 
wife was fascinated. The girl whom he had thus far 
failed to impress with any other emotions than awe and 
a mild aversion tempered with obedience to his will as 
her lord and master, was fascinated by the Englishman. 
Was it because he was white and a gentleman? 

Whatever the reason, before they had finished eating, 
Sin Chang was satisfied that his guest had no designs upon 
Yisan, but was chiefly interested in him. It was not un¬ 
natural for a woman to look thus upon a comely man, but 
the hunter who is out for a tiger skin wastes no shot upon 
the hare. This man was wholly taken up with something 
big—life or death. One might see it in his eyes. What 
to him would be a woman’s love! Sin Chang pushed 
back his chair, lit with one of the embers a tiny pipe with 
a long bamboo stem, watched his guest light a cigarette, 
then asked: 

“From Japan you have come, from Fusan?” 

“Yes, friend. I have lived ten years in Japan, buying 
tea for the Americans. At last came trouble. Certain of 
the Japanese think I know too much.” 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 53 

“Too much of what?” asked the Korean, showing his 
big yellow teeth. 

“Too much of their plans for this country and China.” 

“Huh!” commented his host, with a shrug. 

“So they got after me, tried to arrest me, and I fled— 
to Moji. It was a close pull for me, but I got away—and 
—when you spoke to me in English I said, ‘There is a 
friend/ so when the train slowed down for the grade a 
mile beyond, I jumped and made my way back. I have 
committed no crime.” 

“Crime?” the Korean repeated, evidently puzzled. 

“Nothing wrong. No killing or-” 

“Too bad. Why notta kill someone?” 

“Not in my line,” the Englishman answered. 

“No? But you are strong. I know the strong man. 
I kill to live. Here in the hills I hunt the big cats and the 
bear. I grow some crops, ver’ small, some grape—I take 
the small animal in the traps. All my skins I carry up 
to Seoul—Japanese call it Keijyo—Pah! and they call my 
country ‘Cho-sen.’ ” 

Jerry Householder could see by this that his new friend 
was no exception to the rule; that he distrusted the Jap¬ 
anese invaders of his land though they had in the last few 
years built six hundred miles of railroad, had transformed 
Seoul into a modern city and opened the country to com¬ 
merce with the world. 

Yisan’s dark eyes followed the conversation. The 
words meant nothing to her, but she knew when men 


54 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


smiled as they talked; she knew likewise what it meant to 
see anger in their faces and the bitter sneer. She had 
seen knives follow to cut deeper than words, had seen 
one lie bleeding on the floor, while the other wiped his 
knife on the inside of his blouse and put it calmly back 
in his belt. Yisan was young, but she had seen life— 
and death. She judged men by what she saw, not by 
what she heard. And Yisan knew that for some strange 
reason her husband and the Englishman were friends. 

“You speak English well,” Householder continued. 
“Have you lived in England—or America?” 

“Never have I been outside Korea; once down to Fusan, 
many times north to the Yalu River at Shingishu, but 
never across to Antung, never leave my own countree.” 

“You must have had a remarkable teacher.” 

“Yes, the missioner Farley some, and the daughter of 
missioner much more. He teach the Jesus religion; I 
learn the Anglish.” 

“Didn’t Miss Farley also teach religion?” 

“Ver’ little. Keep the house for old man. Missy 
dead. One day she tell Jesus religion everybody love 
everybody. I like this. I say: ‘Come and love me.’ 
She turn ver’ red and run away. We make great friends 
after that. She teach me Anglish. Beautiful lady, and 
now her father the missioner have died, she go back soon 
to America. I lose good friend.” Far into the night 
they talked, sizing each other up after the way of men. 
And Yisan made her own estimates—after the way of 
women. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


55 


However, Sin Chang gave him a bed that night, a test 
of hospitality in a hut that had but two rooms, and Jerry 
Householder was not the man to betray such trust or dis¬ 
appoint his new friend’s estimate. 

Many times in the first two days of his stay had Yisan 
tried to ensnare him, tried to shut him in behind the dark 
curtains of her eyes, or imprison his hand in hers—any 
of the thousand ways in which a woman may speak to a 
man though they have but half a dozen words in common. 
Jerry Householder had lived thirty-five years, and in that 
time had learned that sometimes one should look not upon 
the wine when it is red within the cup. And sometimes, 
rarely, he lived up to what he had learned. 

The day after his arrival Sin Chang mounted on the 
back of a bullock had set off early in the morning, his long 
gun slung across his shoulders. A top-heavy load it 
seemed to Jerry Householder watching the patient little 
beast pick his way down the defile, soon lost to sight on 
the plateau, only to reappear in a few minutes toiling up 
the narrow path into the wild mountains toward the north. 

Never once did the giant hunter turn his head to look 
back to his distant home. The Englishman watched him 
till he had dwindled to a moving speck, and was gone. 
Then two soft round arms stole about his neck and Yisan’s 
bright lips were teasing for a kiss. 

“No!” he said firmly, but, in putting her away, he 
couldn’t refrain from a lingering hug, though the kiss he 
refused. 

But Sin Chang’s wife understood neither the language 


56 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

nor the principle. To the opportunist opportunity is 
everything. 

All that day Householder busied himself carrying arm¬ 
fuls of wood from the plateau and neighboring hills. It 
was essential to his safety that he keep hidden from the 
valley where at any hour the Japanese might come in 
search of him, but he found enough to do in adding to the 
little wood-pile behind the hut. 

In the afternoon when the sun began to hide behind the 
peaks back came the hunter on his tired beast, a tawny 
skin flecked with black hanging limp and a little bloody 
across the bullock’s withers. 

One appraising glance of the narrow black eyes took in 
the guest and his day’s work; the bride not too busy to be 
peeping from the half-open door; the tiny thread of white 
smoke that rose from his chimney straight into the win¬ 
try air—and Sin Chang, turning the bullock loose to find 
his way to the shed, went to work stretching the fresh 
skin on a frame, where it could dry withoutj shrinking. 

That night again the two men talked till late and be¬ 
came better friends. 

The second day was like the first, save that the hunter 
came home earlier, and empty-handed. And, when far 
off down the valley could be seen the smoke of the eve¬ 
ning train, Sin Chang went down to take his place by the 
crossing. 

“They may be coming, the Japanese,, to look for you,” 
he said as he left the hut. “Maybe I get news for you.” 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


57 

Climbing slowly back an hour later he spied his wife’s 
gay coat flaunting its green silk sleeves in the air. 
Lucky for Jerry Householder that he had made friends 
and won the confidence of his host, or the Korean would 
have killed him, strong and resolute as he was, lifting him 
in his mighty arms, breaking his back as he had done for 
man and beast in many a fierce encounter. 

Yisan seemed not to fear him. Her white teeth 
gleamed, her dark eyes flashed, her gay laugh rang, even 
as she faced her husband’s frown. 

Without a word to her the Korean beckoned to House¬ 
holder. The two men entered the hut and shut the door ; 
the woman, laying aside her gaudy coat, found her two 
pails and went in search of the goats. A half hour later 
Sin Chang was at work feeding and watering his bullocks 
for the night. 

The sun sank behind the dark shoulder of the bleakest 
mountain as two small figures in the uniform of the Jap¬ 
anese military police crept cautiously towards the little hut 
far up on the slope that lies to the north of the railway, 
close by the great Black Dragon ravine. 

Two Japanese officials ordered to arrest a dangerous 
criminal were creeping towards the lone hut on the moun¬ 
tain side when the giant Korean spied them, shrugged his 
mighty shoulders, turned his back, and, after gazing in 
apparent absorption at the ravine beside him, entered his 
house and shut the door. This much the two saw as they 
lay flat beside a big rock far below. Obviously their ap- 


58 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


proach was unsuspected. No slightest sign of haste or 
nervousness up there on the mountain betrayed that the 
obvious may not be the truth. 

Yisan, who had come back with her milk pails full, sat 
mutely worshipping the Englishman, but Sin Chang noted 
that the table was between them. Curiously enough it 
was the man’s behavior which he watched. Sin Chang 
was not a sentimentalist, but a philosopher, and the in¬ 
tervening table was due to his guest’s interpretation of the 
code. 

“The little spies,” he said. “Already they sneak up on 
us looking for you. There is still time, some minutes. 
Follow me.” 

The two men climbed out through a back window and 
disappeared in the little yard. Yisan had started to fol¬ 
low them, but a sharp command from her husband had 
sent her back to her seat, where she scowled at the stone 
floor and pouted because men were so stupid. 

Twenty minutes later, as she and Sin Chang waited, a 
sharp authoritative knock at the door brought her to her 
feet. No such sound had she ever heard before in her 
brief married life. Who was there to knock? She 
threw a questioning glance at Sin Chang, who merely 
nodded for her to open. 

Two Japanese officers entered cautiously, each holding 
a revolver before him in readiness to fire. Yisan leaped 
back in terror, but the huge Korean only laughed, calling 
out: “Come in, strangers.” 

The strangers were wary and not to be cajoled by the 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


59 


rough pleasantry of a mountaineer. Their sharp eyes 
noted the table set for two, the kettle boiling over a fresh 
fire. The woman. Ah! here lay their hope. So young 
and pretty a girl would betray herself if she were trying 
to hide the foreigner. 

The officer who had two buttons on his sleeve denoting 
his rank made a low bow to the girl and her pulchritude, 
but he still held his pistol before him. 

“We seek a foreigner,” he said, “English. So fair a 
lady would attract the foreigner, would charm even one 
in the performance of his duty. To save your husband’s 
life, your life, you must not longer shield a fugitive from 
justice.” 

The lady’s big dark eyes opened in wonder, but she 
was a woman and thought she knew men. 

“We welcome you,” she answered in her native tongue. 
“Whatever is ours we are honored to share with you.” 

Her look was yet more hospitable than her invitation. 
It so disarmed her questioner that he tucked away his 
pistol out of sight. How should he know that the lady, 
unable to understand a word of Japanese and not given her 
husband’s confidence, was only guessing the object of their 
visit! 

“You are very good, very good,” replied the officer, still 
in Japanese and still in the dark, “but first”—with a 
sweeping gesture—“we must search the premises.” 

Thinking that she understood the gesture, Yisan an¬ 
swered, following the direction of his gaze: 

“We could give you better accommodation for the night 


6o 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


in the cattle shed. This garret is too low and too much 
the home of spiders.” 

“So!” and, placing a chair beneath the open hatch, the 
second officer drew himself up to investigate the garret so 
disparaged, while his companion stood guard below. 

“Just as the charming lady describes, so is it,” was his 
report as he jumped down a moment later. 

“The lady will excuse,” said the two-button man, 
whereupon both backed out of the door and circled the 
house, one going to the right, the other to the left. They 
met at the entrance to the little yard, and now Sin Chang 
thought it time to lend a hand. Coming slowly from the 
house he spoke without haste or apparent interest: 

“It would be better I should open the gate. My dog 
is not friend to the stranger.” 

The two stood back, the little wicket swung open; from 
one corner of the shed came a huge, wolfish dog, black as 
night, his curling lip uncovering wicked fangs. And, 
while his tail proclaimed a welcome for his master, the 
sensitive nostrils puckered and the long fangs gleamed to 
show that he knew without being told that strangers from 
a strange land had come, and he distrusted strangers. 

“Down, Oo-loong!” rumbled the heavy voice of the 
master, and on the instant the dog dropped. 

“Enter, strangers. Nothing is here to harm. The 
bullocks yonder are gentle as sheep.” 

“But why 'Oo-loong’?” asked the two-button man. 
“Is it not the name of a tea?” 

“So!” nodded Sin Chang. “But is not Oo-loong in the 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


61 


Chinese black dragon? Such also is the name of this 
dark ravine. For my faithful dog also, had you seen him 
holding at bay the jaguar while I was reloading, you would 
believe Black Dragon a fitting name.” 

“Very pretty in its idea,” the Japanese grunted. “The 
dog, I dare to say, is fierce, terrifying even by his for¬ 
bidding look, as do the dragons. But I did not know this 
of the Chinese tongue: Oo-loong to be black dragon.” 

He seemed so absorbed in the name as to have for¬ 
gotten the object of his visit. 

Sin Chang turned his back and became interested in 
restoring to the wall half a dozen stones knocked down by 
a venturesome bullock. Not once did he look over his 
shoulder to see what the intruders were doing. They 
were quite sure of this indifference, because one of them 
watched him closely while the other searched the shed, 
the rough cupboard, the water barrel, even the little stacks 
of hay and rye straw in a corner. 

The black hound crouched where his master’s command 
had checked him, his great head pressed close to the out¬ 
stretched paws. Only his eyes moved, they followed 
every step of the strangers, and once when they repeated 
his name, his lip curled back in an ugly but silent snarl. 

No sign of the fugitive was to be found in the shed. 
He could not make his way down into the ravine; the only 
other way of escape lay in that path back through the 
pass, over the plateau and up into the mountains. By 
following that path they would overtake him or meet him 
stealing back. 


62 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


No man, government man or civilian, could have passed 
the back window of the hut without regarding the dark 
beauty gazing forth to meet the disappointed searchers, 
to question them with all the ingenuous directness of a 
child. She knew now that she had guessed the truth, and 
she was acting her part all the better for that knowledge. 

“Where is the Anglishman ?” she laughed, in her own 
language. “Let me see him before you shoot and make 
dead the missioner.” 

The two stopped short within a few feet of flashing 
eyes, gleaming teeth, well rounded arms resting on the 
sill. 

As for their Englishman it was obvious that to her he 
was only an object of curiosity and, because he was white, 
a missionary. Not finding him here was merely negative 
evidence, but this was positive. 

“He is not here,” one answered her. “We think it is 
for Taiden he makes.” 

She tried to look responsive, though she understood no 
word of what they said. Then she had a happy thought: 
“You will stay the night with us. I see so few—never 
the nice men.” 

When she had uttered this her eyes took flight at her 
own boldness, looking for hiding place in her bosom. 
The two Japanese immediately went in pursuit, as it were, 
and came back breathless. 

“Could we not, perhaps, stay?” asked the junior. 
“Night would surely overtake us in the mountains yonder, 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 63 

and what advantage to offer ourselves a target if he should 
be hiding to draw us on?” 

“Bushido!” spoke the elder man, and this one reference 
to the knightly honor of his native land was enough. As 
the sight of the cross to the crusader so to both of these 
men the very mention of the great moral code of Japanese 
knighthood, putting king and country before happiness, 
before family, or life itself, drove out every other desire 
or emotion. 

“Busludo!” both repeated, then, with only a longing 
glance at the appealing vision in the window, they trav¬ 
ersed the path to where the goats lay huddled for the 
night, on up the steep trail to the edge of the woods, 
paused finding nothing but solitude, and soon came tramp¬ 
ing back. 

Sin Chang, not to be caught unawares, had not finished 
the work on his wall. Yisan, no longer at the window, 
was busy over her kettle. 

This they saw as they darted back into the hut, a habit 
which had taught them that thus sometimes one might 
surprise the fugitive. Yisan, who was there alone, shook 
her head to show that she was hurt because they scorned 
her invitation. 

“Sayo Nara!” and they were gone, down the rough 
road to the railway, then on toward the south till darkness 
shut them in and blotted them out. 


CHAPTER VIII 


The coarse thatch on the roof of the shed where it 
sloped toward the ravine, stirred, parted and gave up the 
long, sinewy limbs of a man who clambered over the ridge 
and dropped to the ground in front. Oo-loong came si¬ 
lently forward to poke his cold nose into a friendly hand, 
while in the darkness his tail signalled congratulations 
for dangers past and promise of a dog’s eternal devotion 
to a friend. In silence Jerry patted the hound’s head; 
then crossed the yard to the door of the hut. 

Sin Chang had drawn up to the table; his wife was 
ladling the steaming rice from a copper kettle. At Jerry’s 
entrance the Korean showed his yellow teeth and nodded 
towards an empty chair. Behind him at the fire a tell¬ 
tale blush betrayed the girl’s thoughts. Neither spoke 
till Jerry whispered: “Are we safe?” 

“Safe,” Sin Chang assured him. 

“Yon black hound of mine—he made them timid to 
come prowling back again. And Yisan—O, Yisan, you 
act ver’ well—so not knowing! how you say lady actor 
talk—this ‘I do not know what you mean!’ ” 

This pleasantry his wife made him repeat in Korean, 
whereupon, looking straight into Jerry’s eyes, she blushed 
again. 


64 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


6 5 


“My three very good friends, I cannot thank you 
enough,” Jerry answered. “But I must not stay a day 
longer, putting your lives in danger.” 

“You must not go!” exclaimed his host vehemently, 
bringing down his heavy fist upon the table. “To leave 
now is death, it is sure death. I have plans which you 
help me to bring down the missioner’s daughter from 
Seoul. You shall not to be seen going up. I go alone. 
I come back with missioner’s daughter and you.” 

“But can I be of any service, any help to you?” Jerry 
protested. 

“So!” grunted the giant; then bared his teeth in a grin. 
“Whisker, much whisker on the face make another man.” 
Stroking his own black beard he eyed Householder’s 
rough chin approvingly, seeing in it fine possibilities of 
disguise. 

Yisan was puzzled. Her own man was disconcerting; 
the stranger was an enigma. Could he not see that she 
favored him, that she was fond by nature, that Sin Chang 
was much away from home? Yet this Englishman who 
was keenly interested in her husband, hanging on every 
word he spoke, virtually ignored her charms. Even the 
two bustling little Japanese were far more human, but she 
had deliberately deceived them to shield this man whose 
heart was a stone. 

All through supper the men talked in unintelligible 
English while the woman pondered these things in her 
heart, and plotted schemes for melting stone. 

A week passed. Each day at the same hour the giant 


66 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


Korean stationed himself at the crossing to watch the 
evening train as it labored climbing north. Sometimes 
he exchanged a word with passenger or guard. No more 
officers came seeking trace of the fugitive Englishman. 

One stormy day in the second week after the coming of 
Jerry Householder, a lone traveller crossed the mountains 
on the back of a bullock. He wore the native white duck 
clothes and the inverted waste paper basket which is the 
hat of the priesthood. If any other traveller caught sight 
of that hat he would probably hide lest he be importuned 
to give in the name of Buddha. The priest, whose re¬ 
ligion did not extend beyond his hat, drove before him a 
bullock heavily loaded with skins well tanned and baled. 
He went north over the well worn, narrow trail that leads 
to the great city of Seoul. 

Lucky for him that the trail was worn, lucky that the 
beast in the lead knew his road, for the man had never be¬ 
fore seen it and, despite Sin Chang’s instructions, he had 
misgivings as the walls of the city came in sight. 

On a sharp ridge, the last before reaching the wall, the 
two bullocks stood clearly outlined against the sky. A 
little party of surveyors a mile away raised their field 
glasses to scan them closely, but apparently satisfied they 
resumed their work. One of the eight gates, that called 
Nandaimon, opened before him through the wall, which, 
in a circle of fourteen miles, had for centuries protected 
the city by its impenetrable granite rising to a height of 
twenty feet, a defense so much surer than covenants and 
treaties. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


67 

“What a shock to the rulers who spent such vast sums 
of energy, of ingenuity and slave labor, if they could come 
back and see an airplane sailing placidly over the strongest 
fortified towns!” 

So thought Jerry Householder, safe in the dirt and 
dress of a priest, viewing for the first time the useless 
walls of a past civilization already being thrown down to 
make room for progress, the new pushing aside the old, 
the new jostling, hurrying, tooting its blatant horn, never 
pausing to consider whether some of the old had not better 
be retained. 

To right and left of him the wall climbed the peaks of 
mountains or dropped into the deep recesses of a valley. 

Once more he pushed ahead for Nandaimon, much 
farther distant than it looked. An hour later, almost at 
dusk, he had gained the great southeast gate. A gang of 
half a dozen coolies, each holding a long rope, operated 
by hand a clumsy wooden pile-driver, and worked to the 
tune of a chantey. The workers scarcely favored the 
priest with a glance, but their foreman, a sharp-eyed Jap¬ 
anese, scrutinized him with the care of one trained to ob¬ 
serve and tabulate everything. Beyond this habit he 
showed no unusual interest or curiosity as the priest 
passed him and went on into the city. 

Two men approached bearing, suspended from a stout 
bambo pole, an old-fashioned litter in which huddled a 
wrinkled old man. Being near his end and anxious to 
lose no chances of a restful hereafter he saluted the priest, 
receiving in return his first experience of the sign of the 


68 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


cross, Jerry having for the moment forgotten what sort 
of priest he was. The old man had neither thought nor 
curiosity as to the meaning of the gesture. 

Down Shoro Street he drove, or rather followed his 
leader by the old imperial palace, until he came to a huge 
granite tortoise in a yard. Sin Chang had told him that 
this monument was nearly a thousand years old and rep¬ 
resented the spirit of the Orient. To Jerry’s exclamation 
of surprise: “A tortoise! As slow as that?” Sin 
Chang smiling had replied: “Is it not in all ancient fable 
—the tortoise to outrun the hare? My country say: 
What hurry? Where is it to go? You run ver’ fast— 
what for? Is it to get somewhere else besides the grave? 
That is where man goes; you live fast hurry, American 
man life; you get there so much sooner. Is it not so?” 
A hard lesson for Jerry Householder, this restraint. 

Now he dismounted and stood curiously examining this 
great symbol of Eastern wisdom. 

The bazaar in a neighboring court was crowded with 
shoppers. The merchants sat cross legged before their 
stalls in which were displayed hand-wrought silver or 
copper utensils; cabinets of cedar bound with brass; 
embroidered garments of violet, green or orange silk; 
dainty sandals for women’s feet; bells and ornaments for 
religious decoration. 

From one of these stalls came the big form of Sin 
Chang towering above the crowd. He took the dishev¬ 
elled priest by the hand leading him apart to question 
him about his journey. The bullocks stood and waited 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 69 

outside in the road. Presently coolies unloaded the pack 
from the leader, Sin Chang bestrode him, or, rather, 
perched on his back, for he held his feet up squatting on 
the broad pack saddle in what looked to be a most un¬ 
comfortable position. Balanced there like a huge Buddha, 
he led the way vouchsafing for explanation only the two 
words: “missioner’s daughter.” 

By the marble pagoda they went, by the great bell that 
twenty years ago rang every night at ten a warning that 
the gates were to be closed, after which no shop might 
keep open, no citizen might show himself in the streets. 

Up a narrow lane bordered with high gray walls a 
sandal tree leaned far out, dark green against the bril¬ 
liant blue sky. The tong-tong, tung-tung of a two-toned 
drum sounded at regular intervals divided by the wailing 
of women’s voices in unison. They were smothered 
voices seeming to come from a chorus immured close 
by the sandal tree. Sin Chang turned abruptly to the 
left through a tiny gateway and the two bullocks stopped 
in a little courtyard surrounded by low stone buildings, 
old, dingy, but fascinating, with their wee porches and 
beetling balconies. 

From the smallest shed, which Jerry thought might 
well be an abandoned tram car destitute of wheels, came 
the long drawn and difficult quaver of the voices in a 
minor key, highest art of the Korean geisha. Stooping 
almost to his knees the giant opened the sliding door 
whence came the sound, and Jerry stooping also beheld a 
group of a dozen girls in bright silk robes of various col- 


70 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


ors. They sat on the floor huddled together with two 
old men, one of whom tapped at both ends the strange 
drum shaped like an hour glass held horizontally, while 
the other beat time with a bony finger, and led the in¬ 
terminable quaver rising, falling, breaking in pitiful wails, 
but keeping on and on to test the listening ear no less 
than the singers’ breath control. Long, thin, white beards 
depended from the aged chins, to take the place of chap¬ 
erones, Jerry surmised, while noting that the whole party 
seemed to have slid down into one end as though some¬ 
one had tipped up the tram car to bring the choir close 
together. 

The drummer nodded to Sin Chang in friendly recog¬ 
nition, but the music continued without interruption save 
for the giant’s utterance of “Hochoo,” whereat a dark 
girl rose from the group and led the way across the yard 
to a low house entered through a dark archway. Sin 
Chang and Jerry, following, found themselves in a small 
stone-paved room where a young woman sat reading by 
the uncertain light afforded through a back window. She 
looked up as they entered, but did not remove her feet 
from their elevated position on the top rung of a high 
stool, nor did she remove from her lips the cigarette which 
she was evidently enjoying to the last puff. 

“Hello, Sin,” she called. “Welcome as ever. I’d about 
given you up and resigned myself to the Turkish gentle¬ 
man as the Lord’s will.” 

“Missy,” rumbled Sin Chang in his beard, “this Mister 
Household—Japanese make plenty try to catch. Know 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


7 1 


too much about Japanese. Too much friend China, 
Korea, other countree. I hide him, bring here to keep 
out of danger. Go back home with me, with you.” 

Constance Farley held out a hand to her pupil, and 
said: “Yes, I see!” 

But Jerry who noted that it was a slender white hand, 
who noted also the blue eyes and brown hair of the girl 
and a most seductive laziness in the tone of her voice, 
said to himself: “Missionary’s daughter, indeed! She 
sees a number of things her late-lamented father never 
even suspected.” 

Meantime she was critically surveying the tall, dirty 
priest before her with his scraggy beard and ragged 
clothes. Uncanny, this pseudo priest, whose eyes, which 
should have been dull and fishy, were bright and laugh¬ 
ing. 

“You .have taken a large contract,” she said, address¬ 
ing Jerry. “What is your own country?” 

“I am English,” he answered, “and it isn’t the sort of 
thing you think. Not at all! I’m not a reformer or— 
or that sort of thing, you see. I just fell into this by 
accident, and when I saw what was up I had to go on 
with it.” 

“Well, what was up?” she asked, lighting another cig¬ 
arette, while she studied his face. 

“You see, I’ve been living for a number of years in 
Japan,” he answered, “and I’ve been interested in the 
people—made some very good friends among them. Just 
by accident I stumbled on a conspiracy hatched by a little 


72 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


party of government men and just by accident those fel¬ 
lows stumbled upon me. Do you mind if I tap you for a 
cigarette ? I haven’t had one in a dog’s age. Oh! thanks 
very much!” as the girl complied with his request. “So 
here we are!” 

“So here we are,” she repeated, “but why are we here ?” 

“Isn’t one place as good as another?” he challenged. 
“The company is what counts.” 

She laughed her soft, lazy laugh that was not at all 
American, not at all missionary: “That’s why I sent 
for Sin Chang; the company was that of a Turkish gentle¬ 
man so attentive that I got scared. You can keep English 
and Americans at arm’s length—if you wish to—but Tur¬ 
kish—perhaps this one is insane.” 

Jerry shook his head: “Quite sane. Any court would 
acquit him on the evidence.” 

“Then you, too, have no sense of humor? And what 
can you know of the evidence?” 

“I’ve seen the evidence,” he answered lightly. “The 
prisoner is discharged.” 

“There’s the man,” she answered, flicking her ash on 
to the stone floor. “You always stand by each other. 
Women—never stand by each other!” 

“That reminds me,” Jerry said, “I sent a letter ten 
days ago to an old friend near Nanking, telling her of 
my little scrape and its bearing on China, and asked 
her if she should reply to send it here in care of the 
British Consul.” 

“I take you to him now,” Sin Chang rumbled, for this 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


73 

was the first sentence of the interview which he could 
understand. 

As they went out again into the sunlight Jerry looked 
back to see Constance Farley calmly absorbed again in 
book and cigarette, oblivious of the existence of men in 
the world. 

But Jerry couldn’t see that, instead of reading, she was 
wondering what he looked like shaved, clothed and in his 
right mind. It was thus improved that he made his of¬ 
ficial call a few hours later. 

The British Consul welcomed them. A wealthy and 
influential Chinese, Mr. Ko-Yiang, had been for two 
days waiting to see Mr. Householder at Cho-sen Hotel. 

So his letter to Esther Landon had brought immediate 
results; Esther Landon, who refused him many years 
ago, but had nevertheless been sufficiently interested to 
keep up the acquaintance by occasional correspondence. 
And this was that wealthy friend of whom she had told 
him in several letters, her prince! 

After the interview Jerry had to admit that Esther 
was right: Mr. Ko was certainly a very impressive man; 
not easily carried away, but intensely devoted to his own 
country, keenly alive to the danger of its being swallowed 
up by some better organized government. 

“Then Mrs. Landon was good enough to interest you 
in this little conspiracy,” Jerry said after the first greet¬ 
ings. 

“You are—er—intimate friend of the lady—Eh?” 
Mr. Ko parried. 


74 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


“A very old friend/’ Jerry corrected him. 

“And is not the friendship as the wine, so much the 
older, so much the dearer?” 

“Some friendships,” Jerry admitted, “but others are 
like the old coat that is our most comfortable: we know 
where it is patched, where friction has worn it thin, and 
we are careful to hide its defects.” 

The eyes of Mr. Ko-Yiang narrowed and darkened, 
lifting at the outer corners, into a quizzical expression as 
he pressed his point: 

“We spoke only of one particular friendship. Is this 
friendship a—garment?” 

“Her prince!” Jerry said, but not aloud. “And jeal¬ 
ous !” 

Aloud he said: “No, not a garment, a choice bit of 
old fabric tucked away in camphor—but possessing beauty 
and warmth,” he added as an afterthought. 

Mr. Ko, having thus discovered that the Englishman 
was not afraid of him or his topic, dropped it with char¬ 
acteristic cleverness, and discussed at length the business 
in hand. It had become quite evident that the little con¬ 
spiracy had been nipped in the bud, that however desir¬ 
able to Japan might be its object, other nations would 
never allow its attainment. -It was an ill-advised scheme 
at best, but Mr. Ko did not at once confide his informa¬ 
tion or his opinion to his new acquaintance. He might 
find uses for this resolute Englishman. So with prom¬ 
ises of further correspondence and expressions of good 
will they parted next day, Mr. Ko’s final comment be- 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


75 


ing: “Investigation is not wasted. You find perhaps 
what you seek, perhaps not. Something is there. You 
find that.” 

Whether this should be regarded as occult or common¬ 
place, Jerry couldn’t tell—in fact, didn’t care. He was 
sorry to see any excitement dying down. The one thing 
in life he hated was monotony. 


CHAPTER IX 


There are various ways to avoid monotony. A de¬ 
tour through the fair fields of self-indulgence is probably 
the commonest. Jerry Householder thought he had tried 
them all; he was yet to learn others. 

To start a missionary’s daughter on her homeward jour¬ 
ney to America, despite the too ardent devotion of a rich 
and influential Turk, was a very simple business, backed 
by so resolute a native as Sin Chang. In fact the enter¬ 
prise began so tamely that Jerry wondered a little whether 
he hadn’t been cowardly to run away from Japan. 

As they rode their bullocks in the early morning, through 
the quiet streets of Seoul, Constance Farley pointed to a 
shop open to the street where a cabinetmaker was at 
work. 

“There,” she said, “that’s why we fail to understand the 
Oriental mind.” 

A young woman stood just outside to watch the car¬ 
penter at his work. She wore the little white jacket which, 
complying with Korean modesty, covers the neck and 
shoulders down to the breasts, which are left bare. 

Sin Chang who hung on every word of his teacher 
turned to look. He saw nothing but the ancient city wall 
far off where it climbed among the hills and presently 

76 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


77 


was lost again.. Strange, strange the talk of such a 
woman, and very hard to follow! 

Jerry saw the young woman, but before he spoke he 
cast another look at Constance’s face, checking the words 
that were on his lips. 

“What a lesson he offers to American missionaries!” 
Constance went on. “We come here to preach Push, 
which is our slogan. See that carpenter; he draws the 
plane towards him. Ours pushes the plane. His chisel 
must be drawn; even his saw has a straight handle, and 
its teeth are set to cut towards the workman. Our work 
is all coarser and rougher in consequence.” 

“Yes,” Jerry agreed. “Push wins in your country. 
Pull wins here. Equally sinful.” 

“That doesn’t concern me,” she said. “I’m no reformer. 
Nothing is so thrilling as delightful sinning.” 

“Delightful sinning?” he repeated doubtfully. 

“Why, yes. Of course, a tea and toast sinner isn’t 
nearly so exciting as a champagne and partridge sinner.” 

“I’m not so sure of that; one of the best parties.I re¬ 
member—” Here he broke off to ask: “How are you 
about taking fences?” 

It was her turn to look askance. Just what did he 
mean? “I might trip on the top bar,” she answered 
lightly, “but I’d make a desperate effort to get over.” 

They had come to where a small boy officiated as miller 
at a roadside mill. The huge stone roller, cut in conical 
shape, revolved slowly on a flat millstone over which it 
was impelled by the eternal tramping of a blindfolded 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


78 

donkey walking his little circle round and round hitched 
to a long beam that creaked under the strain. The tired 
beast paused; the boy prodded him with a sharp stick, and 
the poor jaded thing responded once more to the goad. 

“How cruel!” Constance shuddered, but Jerry, already 
dismounted, had gone over to the boy bribing him with a 
few coppers to give the donkey a rest and a drink. 

“Thank you,” Constance said as they resumed their 
journey. “We can love Mercy, even if we hate Good¬ 
ness.” 

But the mighty Sin Chang could understand the man's 
action no better than the conversation which merely batted 
words back and forth: Push and pull, sinfulness and 
fences! What strange things educated people talk about! 
Sin Chang pondered, but could make nothing of it. And 
why should this game with words result in making these 
two people such good friends, when the man hadn't once 
kissed her, crushing her in his strong embrace! How 
often he had longed thus for the teacher, yet feared to 
make the first advance. And this game of words—no, 
he could never hope to learn it—but she had never smiled 
at him with the same look she flung at this Anglish! 

No wonder Sin Chang was silent as they left by the 
Nandaimon gate, following the trail up into the bleak 
mountains. The man said: “We are getting in quite 
deep,” to which the teacher had replied: 

“When you meet strange women it’s far safer to have 
the conversation too deep than too broad.” 

“What is this conversation?” the Korean wondered. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


79 

“It may be deep or broad. It seems to be like a river.” 

They made a strange trio riding in single file, the giant 
in the lead dressed as usual in coarse white, his black head 
surmounted by a tiny hat of glazed black metal perforated 
like a fly trap, in shape the replica of a French “topper,” 
but so small it must be tied on at a rakish angle cocked over 
the left ear; just the thing for a comic opera chorus, this 
little hat worn only by married men, worn perhaps as a 
protection for the spinster that she might not be deceived. 
Certainly it could afford no protection to the wearer’s 
head. 

So they rode, Jerry bringing up the rear. Far off to 
the south the gray mountains towered spectral in the 
slanting light of a rising sun. No sound save the sigh¬ 
ing of the wind through a gully and the clatter of small 
stones rolling from beneath the bullocks’ feet, for the 
teacher and the Englishman had tired of shouting or 
were taking time to think up another rally of words. 

At noon they stopped an hour for tiffin and rest. In 
the afternoon the path grew steeper. The bullocks slipped 
and stumbled dangerously. Once all three, terrified at the 
snapping of a twig, stopped short and Constance’s turned 
directly about, prepared to run. Sin Chang, however, 
brought them to terms with a native malediction, more 
awful than the prowling creature whose scent had be¬ 
trayed him. 

“Was that why you raised your gun to your shoulder ?” 
Constance asked, and the giant looking back showed his 
long yellow teeth as he answered: 


8o 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


“Some minutes I smell the big cat. I keep ready so 
if he jumps I kill first.” 

At night they camped by a stream, but thoughts of the 
tiger kept Constance wide awake. Up there so far above 
her hung the smiling face of the moon. How many and 
how varied the scenes upon which that moon looked down 
so calmly. How much of life and death, joy and sorrow, 
comedy and tragedy, endlessly repeated, century after 
century. 

Was it because the old moon was burnt out that she 
could look on forever unmoved? 

Late in the afternoon of the next day the travellers, 
weary with a long day’s journey, gained the summit of 
the last ridge. In a plateau just before them goats were 
pastured. Beyond the pasture a young woman climbed a 
narrow path, bearing two heavy pails that swung from a 
yoke across her shoulders. She was pretty and graceful; 
so much Constance took in even from that distance. 

A huge black dog, lithe as a panther, followed close at 
the girl’s heels. 

One more valley, one more hill and they had come to 
Sin Chang’s home. In the dark doorway stood Yisan 
leaning against the jamb, radiant in youth and a lavender 
silk scarf. She smiled a welcome to the returned English¬ 
man. Suddenly she caught sight of the woman. A 
black cloud passed over the joyous, smiling face. Yisan, 
the beautiful, had given place to a fierce, wild creature 
who could hate, jealous of any rival. Her dark blazing 
eyes, ignoring her lawful spouse, flashed defiance at the 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 81 

Englishman. Their hostility to the new arrival was not 
even veiled. 

Jerry saw it, but to his surprise Sin Chang paid no 
heed to it, seemed averse to comparing the two women 
so different in type and breeding, for he never so much 
as glanced toward his wife, nor she at him. 

Constance had scarcely dismounted when the girl sprang 
at her, clutching her by the hair while with her free hand 
she tore her cheek with the vicious scratch of tough nails. 
In a second Jerry had seized both her hands and held her 
in a grip of iron. Blood ran down Constance’s cheek; her 
hair hung loose and disordered. With a tiny wisp of 
handkerchief she tried to stop the bleeding, but she ut¬ 
tered no word; no sound of protest or of pain. 

Yisan was panting hard in her struggle to break free— 
not that mere restraint distressed her. She was well used 
to the rough ways of man; it was his right. But to go 
to her rival’s defence! Why, the foreigner was larger 
than she. What need, what excuse, for taking her part! 

Murder was in Yisan’s savage heart; it glowed in two 
coals of fire from her fierce eyes. It choked the very 
breath she tried to breathe, gripping her throat with its 
hot fingers. 

Sin Chang seemed not to notice that anything was 
amiss. There were his bullocks to be driven back into 
their little yard and fed and watered. One must not 
neglect his live stock. 

The great black dog stood by, wrinkling his nose at 
the smell of blood and of strange human beings. His 


82 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

eyes sought his master’s face, for there his laws were 
written. 

“Missy follow me,” Sin Chang said. “I show where 
the brook runs by the shed to wash the face.” Smiling 
her thanks, Constance followed him. 

Jerry released one of Yisan’s hands and dragged her, 
still half resisting, through the dark doorway into the 
hut. Once inside, without warning, her free arm, en¬ 
circled his neck. Passionately she embraced him, hold¬ 
ing him tight. Words she whispered, words utterly 
strange to him, but their meaning he could not fail to 
understand. 

“I cannot,” he said, putting her from him. “Your 
husband has befriended me.” 

A puzzled frown furrowed her brow. The words 
meant nothing; the action and the motive alike were out¬ 
side her comprehension. Ah! it was because of the for¬ 
eign woman. She must first reckon with her! 

The strangely assorted little family had finished sup¬ 
per; the two men had drunk of a fiery liquor which the 
host had produced in a huge jug lifted from a deep hole 
beneath the floor. Under its smarting warmth the Eng¬ 
lishman had relaxed more and more into the laughing, 
careless and care-free boy whom his comrades in the 
war had nicknamed “Smile.” 

Sin Chang insisted on harking back to his wife’s recep¬ 
tion of “Missy” despite Jerry’s effort to divert his 
thoughts to a pleasanter channel. 

The girl understood only too well, and sought by little 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 83 

attentions to placate her giant spouse. She brought his 
long pipe, filled it with tobacco of his ow*n growing, 
carried a taper lighted from the fire. He sat tipped back 
on a heavy oak stool. Without seeming to change his pos¬ 
ture he took Yisan by the nape of the neck, as one lifts 
a kitten, and held her out at arm’s length, where he pro¬ 
ceeded to pinch her ears, talking to her all the while in a 
low voice in the Korean tongue: 

“So you take upon yourself to bite and scratch, mayhap 
some day to kill my guests, my friends. You! who are 
nothing in the world but my wife—my first wife, for I 
shall have other wives; as many as I wish so many shall 
I have.” 

The girl, who was moaning with pain, attempted no re¬ 
ply. He shook her in his mighty grip; her head hung 
forward. She was fast losing consciousness. The man 
seemed not to realize his own roughness, or he had grown 
reckless of this his property. 

Then Constance Farley spoke—gently but firmly, close 
beside him within easy reach of his great arm: “Sin 
Chang,” she said, “you must not hurt her. She does not 
understand.” 

Her hand lay on his shoulder gently restraining him. 
He looked up into the deep blue eyes so steady, so fear¬ 
less of him. A flush of red surged over his face and 
neck. Without a word he dropped Yisan, who fell limp 
and quivering at his feet. Her head swam and rang with 
the cries of all the furies; but humble, submissive, as the 
whipped dog, she lay where he had dropped her. 


84 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

Jerry stepped over her as he went out to his bed in the 
yard with the cattle. Constance, stooping, patted the ach¬ 
ing head very gently, brushing back the disordered hair 
from the dark forehead. If Yisan understood sympathy 
she did not acknowledge it by so much as a sigh. Terror 
she knew, terror of this fierce giant whose hand might 
kill her with one hasty blow. 

The moon looking in, long after, saw only a deserted, 
silent room and a young woman lying face down on the 
gray stone floor. 


CHAPTER X 


It was the noon hour; the long bar of the Shanghai 
Club was crowded. Bartenders were busy shaking cock¬ 
tails, drawing forth from mysterious hiding places under 
the bar bottles of Scotch whisky or rye. Occasionally 
an old man would call for the brandy of “the good old 
days,” meaning the days when he was young. But the 
obliging bartender could find brandy also, or the sherry 
and bitters that preceded American cocktails in British 
favor. 

The refreshing clink of ice shaken; the smoke of cigar¬ 
ettes; the laughter of men released for a little from the 
stress and worry of business; men shaking hands with 
the welcome of old friends long parted; men going up 
or going down the broad stone stairs of the club house; 
men arriving by ricksha, all eager because of the pleas¬ 
ure of meeting other men, partly also because of that 
long bar. Boards on the wall opposite the bar contained 
all the latest news of money and stocks, of horse racing, 
of the sailings of ships. A crowd was about these boards 
gleaning the world’s latest cabled news. At the far end 
of the room two tall men drank whisky in long glasses. 
They leaned upon the bar, the fair man as though it were 
a habit to stand thus with one foot upon the brass rail, 
one elbow on the bar. The dark man was the only Chin- 

85 


86 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


ese in all the motley throng of foreigners. Quite at his 
ease in any surroundings, he none the less was making an 
effort to maintain the proper attitude and at the same time 
his dignity. 

Mr. Ko-Yiang was speaking in his usual calm, authori¬ 
tative style: 

“When I telegraphed you it seemed I might have for 
you information of importance. Now—I do not know— 
It would be best you should wait to see. Excuse, but 
have you money enough ?” 

“Thanks, so much!” Jerry answered. “I have from my 
mother enough to live on in comfort though not in lux¬ 
ury. I am quite all right.” 

“And this young lady who comes with you,” Mr. Ko 
added; “secretary is it, or stenographer ?” 

“Nothing whatsoever. A missionary’s daughter who 
wanted to see Shanghai; the most unconventional woman 
I ever saw. American—which may account for it. , I 
explained how people would say—well, the worst if you 
like-” 

“And this did not stop her?” 

“She only laughed—said she was descended from Cae¬ 
sar’s wife—and added: ‘will you take me along?’ She’s 
jolly good company and all that-” 

“I should like much to meet her. You’ll come and dine 
tonight at eight-thirty to see once more your—friend, 
Mrs. Landon. Bring this Miss-?” 

“Farley, Constance Farley. I’ll extend the invitation 
with pleasure. You understand I cannot dress; I have 





WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


87 

ordered clothes, but at present these are all I have.” 

“It has no bearing. If you will excuse: the dress of 
men reduces to what your mathematicians call common 
denominator. I should prefer more individual style.” 

This remark came back to Jerry Householder when the 
quartet had met in the house at Bubbling Well Road. 
Individual style seemed the key note of the company. 

Constance, who had brought from Seoul her entire 
wardrobe in a great bag, wore a soft green crepe so 
nearly Grecian in outline that it could never be quite out 
of style. 

Esther had chosen from her host’s bountiful supply a 
true Chinese yellow silk. She wore his gift, the jade 
necklace. Her eyes sparkled with the excitement of pit¬ 
ting against each other her former and her present adorers, 
while at the same time it was necessary to test her own 
charms against those of a new rival, one who she saw at 
the first glance might be a very dangerous antagonist. 

A strangely assorted, strangely contrasting company 
these four: Constance much the larger of the two women, 
the Irish type with her brown hair, blue eyes and white 
skin; Esther far more French than English, petite, dark, 
brilliant, her vivacity in marked contrast to the other’s 
laziness. 

At the first glance each saw that she had the advantage 
in age: Constance because Mrs. Landon was only a girl 
of twenty-five and Esther because Miss Farley was a 
woman no longer young, probably thirty. 

“Jerry tells me you’ve been devoting your life to mis- 


88 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


sionary work in Korea,” Esther began the conversation. 

“How extremely inaccurate he is!” the other answered. 
“I never even tried that sort of thing. I don’t know 
how.” 

“But—I thought this great Korean hunter where you 
and he had been visiting was your protege, a convert to 
Christianity.” 

“A pupil in English and—a few other things,” Con¬ 
stance explained. “A convert only in that sense, but a 
very loyal friend.” 

Then it was the host’s turn. It seemed to Constance 
that he held her hand like a Frenchman. His eyes ex¬ 
pressed—was it wonder, or admiration? Whatever it 
was her mind flew back to that insistent Turk in Seoul. 
What strange creatures men were! So utterly different 
from women. 

“You have come to study Chinese character?” he asked, 
raising his eyes in a way that seemed to her cynical. 

“I haven’t come here to study anything,” was her an¬ 
swer. “It seemed a pity to go back to America without 
ever having set foot in China.” 

“America is China’s friend,” he said, assenting to her 
proposition with a nod. 

“It seems traditional; after Boxer Rebellion of 1900 
Germany looted the inmost shrines of the sacred city of 
Peking. She carried off art treasures priceless in value, 
even the ancient bronze astronomical instruments from 
the walls. Japanese wantonly defaced the marble pagoda 
and temples.” 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


89 


“England—wasn’t England your friend?” 

“England was—England: honorable, honest—but Eng¬ 
land left unrepaired the breach in her legation walls made 
by the cannon from the inner city. And over that breach 
they have painted in black letters : ‘Lest we forget.* ” 

“And my country?” she asked. 

“Your state secretary, John Hay, sent us back the 
moneys paid for indemnity to found American Indemnity 
College, where two hundred of our young men and 
women are taught English language and American ideals 
—or is it ideas ? Either way it is a noble memorial of a 
great nation’s friendship.” 

“I feel very proud of that splendid record,” Constance 
said, “for I should have to confess skepticism as to our 
ideals.” 

“Are they not the same as the French: Liberty; Equal¬ 
ity; Brotherhood?” 

“On medals perhaps. But in real life, I’m afraid, 
Money, Speed and Advertising come much nearer the sad 
truth.” 

“Ah!” he exclaimed with evident relish. “This means 
influence of the so beautiful women.” 

At the mention of beauty his dark eyes carefully ap¬ 
praised her from head to foot and back again to head, 
where, encountering a challenge from her, they smiled 
their evident appreciation. An immediate result it seemed 
to her was that Mr. Ko clapped his hands twice, where¬ 
upon a boy appeared with cigarettes and a most delectable 
drink which tasted like a sweet cocktail and, as Jerry 


90 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

confided to Esther, was strong enough to spin the head of 
a bridge. 

“But there are no bridges present,” she answered. 
“There conies the old quizzical look you had as a boy. 
What now?” 

“It’s too early in the game to say there are no bridges,” 
he said. “Bridges are what carry us over a depression— 
or an obstacle—very useful at times.” 

“Then this drink is the bridge and -I should say you’d 
mixed your metaphor if I didn’t see that what you’re try¬ 
ing for is to get a dig at Ko-Yiang. Well, I’ll admit 
he is my bridge and he’s carrying me over a serious de¬ 
pression. Jerry, I made a mistake to marry Peter. He’s 
a poor man and I must have prosperity, or slump.” 

The solemn sound of a gong warned that dinner was 
served. 

The long table gleamed in the soft, shaded light. There 
was no cloth; the beautifully polished teak wood furn¬ 
ished a rich background for the silver, the blue and white 
Canton china, the elaborate dishes of ivory set in a silver 
network. 

Four boys in long blue blouses, white breeches and san¬ 
dals waited noiselessly, faultlessly. It was almost more 
like an English dinner than Chinese: there were quail and 
grouse following an indescribable Chinese soup; there was 
the inevitable bread and cheese, and there were li-tchi 
nuts, mangoes and truly Oriental sweets overpowering in 
their sweetness. The wine of the country was displaced 
by excellent sherry and champagne. Over their heads 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


9i 


waved slowly the punkah keeping the air in motion. With 
the lazy creak mingled the subdued patter of sandal- 
shod feet. The composite smell that is the Orient per¬ 
vaded even here. All these things influenced the conver¬ 
sation, drifting in like indolent manner. 

Mr. Ko, leaving Esther to the Englishman, was devot¬ 
ing himself to the American girl. His intention had been 
thus to give himself an opportunity to watch Esther with 
her former lover. It might be to torture himself with 
the revelation that they still cared for each other, that 
this lovely English woman so complaisant toward him was 
far better pleased with her own countryman. It hurt 
to suspect that she loved his money, not him. 

At first he had watched them jealously, but that was 
before the lithe figure, the soft brown hair, the deep gray 
eyes, the lazy indifference of his newest guest had roused 
his interest. No woman of her type had ever come his 
way before. The mad desire for possession crowded 
every other thought into the background. 

Was she utterly indifferent? Impossible with those 
eyes and the little lines showing faintly at their corners. 
Impossible with that indolent seduction in every move¬ 
ment, in every articulation, every tone of her voice! Im¬ 
possible with that mouth, those full lips, those sensitive 
nostrils—a woman meant for loving! 

So, as he watched and speculated, he even forgot that 
other couple at his elbow chatting of old days before the 
great war, of an old love that once had burnt so bright. 

Had it burned itself out, or was it only smouldering? 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


92 

Other thoughts had driven out that question for the 
present. 

The American leaned back in her chair with such per¬ 
fect relaxation one could not associate her with that hustl¬ 
ing nervous race. Her long, tapering, white arm stretched 
out to toy with the cigarette which she seemed to be ex¬ 
amining at arm’s length so intently was her gaze fixed 
upon that burning point, but it was not of that she spoke. 

“There’s a lot of nonsense in poetry and prose about 
women. We aren’t so different from men.” 

“But more skilful,” he insisted, “more finesse, more del¬ 
icate touch. Is it not?” 

“P’raps. But, when we see what we want—we take it.” 

“Sometimes—are you not in doubt? Eve of your tra¬ 
dition knew not her fondness for apples until she had bit¬ 
ten one.” 

“Yes, but remember it was she, not Adam, who had the 
courage to try it.” 

“The legend, if I recall, says nothing to indicate Adam 
had acquired the snake language. He knew not of ap¬ 
ples.” 

“Did you ever think”—and now at last her eyes turned 
very slowly from her cigarette to him—“how many poor 
mortals on their death beds wake up to realize what they’ve 
missed because they didn’t even know the language?” 

“I thought this to be true only of men.” 

“Men!” she repeated. “Men worry about the things 
they’ve done. Women about the chances they’ve missed.” 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


93 

Ah, this was good news; it looked decidedly hopeful. 
He must encourage her along this line: 

“So the wise woman is she who takes the chances, who 
welcomes the pleasure when it comes.” 

“There aren’t any wise women,” she answered. “Even 
those five in the parable who illuminated for another girl’s 
bridegroom—were wise only by comparison.” 

“The wise woman,” he said ignoring the unfamiliar ref¬ 
erence, “is at least she who is not bound by convention.” 

Esther Landon, who had been lending one ear to this 
conversation, found here her cue: 

“Convention! I don’t know what people in America 
are like, but those at home may all go hang, with their 
Jane Austen ideas of woman’s sphere! I’m not going to 
tread the straight and narrow way to please a pack of 
dead and dying—relics of the middle ages.” 

“Straight and narrow?” Mr. Ko repeated, “and what 
is this way?” 

“You tell him, Miss Farley,” Esther prompted. “I 
think it’s more in your line.” 

Constance smilingly complied: “Why, you see, Mr. 
Ko, it’s the little turnstile by which souls may enter Hea¬ 
ven—in single file—whereas they go arm in arm, as many 
as you like, to Perdition.” 

“I have never liked the crowds,” he said complacently. 
“Much better one, two, or three.” 

“Why better?” Esther interrupted. “I like to see peo¬ 
ple. What does a woman dress for? Why try to look 


94 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

your best unless you are to be seen, to live among peo¬ 
ple ?” 

“We have a saying,” Ko-Yiang answered, “ ‘pigs in 
every yard; dogs in every street; friends only in one’s 
heart.’ Thus one protests there is not room for—the mul¬ 
titude.” 

“My heart is a big place,” she flung back. “It has room 
for any number of nice people. Of course they must be 
nice people.” 

“Generalities!” Jerry said. “What you really mean is 
that you like so many people a little it isn’t possible for 
you to care very deeply about one.” 

At this sally Ko-Yiang shot her a quick glance seeming 
to ask her to deny it. 

She only laughed and shook her head, exclaiming: 
“And this from you, Jerry, of all people!” 

“Yes, of all people,” he answered. “You remind me 
of that inscription in my sister’s autograph album by 
one of her dear school friends: 'Drop one link in friend¬ 
ship’s chain for me.’ ” 

This was too subtle for Mr. Ko, who only blinked from 
one to the other while he tried to find Constance’s hand 
under cover of the table. Whether she knew it or not, 
she elected that very moment to lean both elbows on 
the table. 

Coffee was served in the great living room, where were 
yellow vases of the Ming period, carvings such as are no 
longer possible, for, when they were made, the carver 
worked for three cents a day and lived on rice. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


95 


Here the four were farther separated when Ko-Yiang 
took Miss Farley into the conservatory to see a miniature 
aquarium stocked with rare specimens. 

Over a chair lay a mandarin’s coat of plum colored 
satin marvellously embroidered in peach blow and gold, 
a gem for any collection. 

‘‘How beautiful!” Constance exclaimed. 

“It would make extremely good blend with your color¬ 
ing,” Mr. Ko added, and picking it up threw it about her 
shoulders, then stood off to admire. “Yes; it is so well 
and becomingly placed you must keep it.” 

“But, Mr. Ko, how could I accept such a gift? It is 
very kind of you, but-” 

“No, my dear lady; I shall feel much hurt if you will 
not honor me to take such trifling present. It has no 
value.” 

Now, Constance knew, any woman would know, that 
it must be very valuable, but she who hasn’t been tempted 
by such bait has no right to criticize. And Constance, 
though lacking a mirror, hadn’t long to wait before she 
was able to note from one angle the effect her present 
produced. When they rejoined the two old friends who 
had seemed so pleased at their unexpected reunion no 
thought was farther from Constance’s mind than a desire 
to upset the equilibrium of the little dinner party. But 
at the first sight of that costly antique worn so compla¬ 
cently by the new arrival, a stranger from a strange land, 
fire flashed from Esther Landon’s dark eyes, the fire of a 
jealousy so fierce that it had lost the sense of shame. 


96 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

How like she was to that other woman back there in the 
mountains of Korea, the untamed Yisan, who would learn 
only in the hard school of experience! 

There is an unmistakable satisfaction in discovering that 
you are the cause and occasion of envy in others. That 
Mrs. Landon was plainly jealous of her did not disturb 
Constance; it only added zest to the little flirtation with 
that unusual man, her host. 

Mr. Ko with the amateur’s instinct for values looked in¬ 
quiringly from one woman to the other. Nothing escaped 
him; he saw the jealousy, knew the reason, knew the type 
of human beings who glory in sharing that emotion with 
the cat family and a host of others. Of the other wom¬ 
an’s type he knew les^s. What would rouse that indolent 
nature? What would result if it were roused? He de¬ 
termined then and there that he would find the answer to 
these questions. It would be a very entertaining study 
and experiment. In those large eyes so blue and so white 
he could see neither scorn nor anger. Apparently the 
American had not even observed the expression which 
had roused his interest and added to his enjoyment. 

Then Constance Farley spoke. Her voice was pleas¬ 
ing, but the words were drawled, lingering on her lips, 
“It is very sweet of you to insist, Mr. Ko, and—the temp¬ 
tation to yield is so strong that—I accept.” 

“Ko-Yiang,” Esther said with an effort to appear dis¬ 
interested, “is a child. My dear, I am positively fright¬ 
ened as his guest here to praise anything. He would 
give anyone the half of his kingdom if he asked for it.” 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


97 


“If he asked for it, yes”—Constance assented. “But 
if he didn’t ask or even hint—would you compel him to 
accept it?” she finished, turning to him. 

“Ancient poets,” he said, apparently ignoring the ques¬ 
tion, “have written: 'No woman understands herself.’ 
When I read this I said: 'Ah, this explains.’ Since 
then I have never even tried to understand many things.” 

Half an hour later when Jerry left Constance at her 
hotel she surprised him with the question, “Do you think 
our host of this evening is—something of a flirt?” 

“No,” he replied, “he is Chinese. An Englishman 
might have been flirting. The Chinese is ready at any 
time to add another to his collection.” 

“So I,” she exclaimed indignantly, “am—a specimen?” 

“Which he has under careful consideration. If Mrs. 
Landon thought for an instant that her beauty and charm 
had obtained a monopoly—poor child!” 

“Good-night—and thank you,” came on the instant from 
Constance Farley. 

“I wonder,” he thought as he turned away, “is she also 
getting caught in the same golden web ?” 


CHAPTER XI 


It was delightful under the sycamore trees in the Pub¬ 
lic Garden. Sunshine danced on the water where the 
usual number of craft of all sorts darted here and there 
or made their way slowly with the dignity of big ships. 
A boat was coming ashore from the river steamer just in 
from her long run. 

Esther watched the little launch. It might be bringing 
some one from the neighborhood of her own home, that 
dreary place from which she had run away to escape 
monotony—as if anyone could escape monotony when 
human life itself at best is a monotone with occasional 
excursions above or below the key! 

Even Esther was not sure that she had really escaped 
monotony; after the first two weeks her present life varied 
little from day to day. She also feared at times that her 
own sameness rather bored her self-indulgent host. In 
fact, Esther was not quite so sure of herself and several 
other things as she had been a month ago. Concert pitch 
she found, however inspiring, may yet prove after a while 
something of a strain. 

It was delightful sitting there in the broad shade of 
the sycamores, but the slender foot kicked petulantly all 

98 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


99 


the pebbles within her reach, and her expression suggested 
anything but contentment. Always a tiny doubt would 
obtrude itself, questioning whether this was worth the 
cost. More than once in the darkness and solitude of the 
night Peter’s image had arisen to vex her, never angry— 
that she could have borne—but appealing mutely as the 
whipped dog looks into his master’s eyes, not cringing—• 
only beseeching a fairer treatment in return for so much 
love and devotion. 

With daylight all this seemed childish nonsense. Now, 
despite the soft air, the grateful shade, the colorful sights 
along the water front, the wealth lavished upon her, she 
was not on good terms with life and its gay trinity: the 
world, the flesh and the devil. 

That little man up forward in the launch reminded her 
of poor old Peter; had just his habit of standing like an 
old man, with his hands clasped behind his back, or, as 
she had derisively described it to Peter himself, like an 
aged cab horse falling asleep in the shafts. He had taken 
his hat off and the breeze blew his thin hair back from 
his forehead. She couldn’t see the veins at his temples, 
he was too far away, but she could imagine them just like 
Peter’s. Probably, like Peter, this man also when embar¬ 
rassed would fuss about his coat collar, hitching it up in 
the back. Queer things, men; so helpless and dependent 
on women’s care. 

In the midst of this reverie Jerry Householder came, 
tall, resolute, so full of life and energy that he drove 
out every thought of that little man in the launch who 


100 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


wasn’t resolute, who needed love and care far more than 
this big fellow ever could need them. 

He needn’t have had so little tact as to ask: “Where 
is everybody?” as though she didn’t count. 

“I suspect she’s off somewhere with Ko-Yiang,” she 
answered. 

When he hadn’t taken a seat on the bench beside her 
she added: “You were fond of me once, Jerry. Have 
you forgotten?” 

“No, but I take it that’s the great difference between 
the sexes in accomplishment.” 

“Oh! Really! Men are so superior!” 

“Well, call it what you will, a man says: That’s past 
—what next? and goes ahead to something else.” 

“You mean som tone else.” 

“A woman,” he continued, ignoring her corrections, 
“sits by the corpse of last night to talk it over, twist it 
this way and that, photograph it and paste it into her al¬ 
bum. She wants to live everything over two or three 
times. While she is doing that a man is going on to what 
comes next.” 

“Really, Jerry, you’ve grown very patronizing. And 
it includes all of my unfortunate sex? Is that it?” 

“No, that’s not it. It includes the average. It should 
warn a certain woman not to allow herself to slip down 
into that class.” 

“I don’t know anything about averages. I asked if 
you’d forgotten that you once cared for me, and—I drew 
a lecture on the inferiority of woman.” 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


IOI 


“Which was another way,” he caught her up, “of say¬ 
ing that I let bygones remain bygones. When I open up 
a tomb it will not be my own.” 

“Well, your figure of speech flatters my vanity, any¬ 
way: the buried hopes of yesterday.” 

“While you are living in today, I had almost said 
‘strictly’.” 

“Why the mean stab?” she asked. 

“Because it’s amusing to see you on the wrong end of 
the halter, no longer the leader but the led.” 

“And have you seen so much as that?” She could not 
keep down the color as she asked the question. Some¬ 
thing brought back the image of that little man standing 
so forlorn up forward in the launch. And it might be 
Peter. Nothing strange in his coming to look for her. 
The launch had landed its passengers. They had scat¬ 
tered and gone. One of them had strolled aimlessly to 
the north side of the town, where an old stone bridge 
crosses the Whang-poo. He leaned idly against a parapet 
and watched the crowding boats below him, all so eager 
to reach their journey’s end, unload, and begin another 
journey. Sampans, junks with masts unstepped to go 
under the bridge. Such a throng! Women and children 
poling or laboring together at the long oar. Poverty 
pinched to yield barely food enough to keep life going, 
raiment enough to cover half their bodies—toil, endless, 
hard, unrelenting—with starvation hovering vulture-like 
just over them—yet they kept on, kept on, because of that 
vulture hovering—just over them. 


102 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


“No wonder,” thought the man on the bridge, “that 
these Chinese never laugh—there’s nothing to laugh at.” 

An old man crouching close beside him offered for sale 
two fishes, weak, anaemic and half dead, that floated, pre¬ 
tending to swim, in a shallow tub. 

With characteristic squeal a barrow came over the 
bridge, the water seller offering typhoid germs in liquid, 
quite harmless to the natives, who have acquired unbe¬ 
lievable immunity through centuries of culture. 

The little man with a shudder turned away from the 
river, from the water seller drawing off a measure for a 
woman with many children, from the crowding boats and 
the huddling families that lived in them. He chose Fo- 
kien Road, where fish markets complained to Heaven and 
all others of sensitive perception that their fish were not 
fresh, hadn’t been fresh for many days, past stalls where 
yellow and brown ducks hung in rows glistening with 
varnish, cooked meats that would keep for weeks if need 
be before they were sold, easily dusted by reason of their 
shiny surface. He had to dodge a barrow piled so high 
with crates of live poultry—ducks and geese—that it 
seemed to approach along the narrow road by its own voli¬ 
tion. 

A lovely little dark-eyed girl dodged behind the barrow 
to avoid meeting the foreigner face to face. There’s 
something so inferior about foreigners! Even this rag¬ 
ged, bare-footed child felt it, although she was too igno¬ 
rant to understand that poverty was the reason why her 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


103 

country didn’t send out missionaries to convert such peo¬ 
ple. 

The peculiar chant of the dry goods vendor rose above 
the jumble of other sounds, the jargon of many dis¬ 
tricts, the cries of children, the grunt of porters, sweat¬ 
ing under a two horse load of heavy cases. Everywhere 
color, red and gold, blue and yellow and the haze of 
crowded life and constant motion. 

It was confusing to one who had lived so long back in 
the country. Peter Landon, standing still to make sure 
that he hadn’t lost his way, took off his hat, letting his 
thin hair straggle down on his forehead. A woman, 
European or American, came from a little shop directly 
in front of him, hesitated a moment, then asked: “Nank¬ 
ing Road—it is this way, to the right? I’m a bit confused 
coming out of the shop into all this again.” 

She had a nice face. At first glance Peter liked those 
blue eyes and her perfectly frank smile. 

“I’m going that way myself,” he assured her, though he 
hadn’t known it until she smiled at him. “May I—may I 
offer to-” 

“I should be very much obliged,” she answered, not 
waiting for him to finish his question. He was such a 
sad little figure,—any woman would long to mother him, 
to give him some little happiness to drive that hunted, 
hungry look from his sad eyes. What tragedy could he 
be living, she wondered ; and were the police already on 
his trail? 



104 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

‘‘This city is so unlike anything I’ve ever known,” she 
said, for the man seemed to need encouragement if they 
were not to walk in silence. 

“I have lived for several years in Seoul.” 

“Seoul,” he repeated, “never been there. It’s a fine 
city, isn’t it?” 

“Interesting,” she assented, “but my father was a mis¬ 
sionary there. We didn’t see much of the real life.” 

“No. I suppose not. You’d have to lead the life of a 
—a—” He hesitated, afraid to say what he had in mind. 

But she helped him, “Yes, interlopers and parasites.” 

“I didn’t mean anything so harsh as that,” he insisted. 

“No, probably not. But that’s your opinion of all mis¬ 
sionaries, isn’t it?” 

“Sorry,” he answered, and she could tell by his voice 
that they were getting on nicely together, “but if we are 
to exchange confidences we should be introduced. My 
name is Landon—Peter Landon.” 

“Then is your wife the Mrs. Landon visiting here, 
whom I have met at Ko-Yiang’s?” 

It seemed to her that the man winced at this question. 
She was sorry that she had asked it when she saw the 
pained look in his face. He didn’t answer except to repeat 
the name, Ko-Yiang. Something in the tone of his voice 
told her that he had come in search of his wife, and that 
the association of her name with Ko-Yiang’s was confirm¬ 
ing his worst fears. 

She liked Peter Landon. It was difficult to picture him 
as the husband of the vivacious Esther. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


105 

Before she could really get acquainted with him they 
had come out onto the Bund, crossed to the Public Garden, 
where they stumbled upon Esther in animated conversation 
with Jerry and Ko-Yiang. Esther was defending her at¬ 
titude as to money, which she maintained was valueless 
until spent. How silly, therefore, to hoard it! 

Mr. Ko seemed much amused, lolling on the seat be¬ 
side her, while Householder, standing, towered in front 
of them, so occupied in the attempt to reform his old 
friend, that he failed to notice the two who had stopped 
within a few yards of them. 

“Money doesn’t bring happiness,” Jerry was saying. 

“No,” Esther granted, “it just buys the things that do 
bring it.” * 

“Nonsense, child, you are disputing an axiom.” 

“Well, axioms ought to be disputed. They all need 
proving, and most of them are wrong.” 

“Then you’d even deny that two and two are four?” 

“Decidedly. I’ve always secretly doubted it. Some 
day a bright scientist is going to show the world, that 
arithmetic is nonsense. And then I’m going to be able 
to balance my bank book and pay most of my bills.” 

“Ver-y good logic,” Mr. Ko exclaimed. “A lovely 
woman need never believe in mathematics; rather in the 
comfortable saying of your Scripture; With Gold all 
things are possible.” 

“Oh, I say—” Jerry protested—but seeing that Esther 
hadn’t even noticed, probably didn’t know that Mr. Ko 
was misquoting, he let it pass unchallenged. 


106 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

After all, wasn’t it nearly true? Wasn’t this clever 
Chinese justified in bringing the Scripture up to date? 
Who in these days remembers to keep holy the Sabbath 
Day? 

Esther—well, he knew Esther. Smart sounding 
phrases, clever repartee—these were all she knew of argu¬ 
ment. 

He caught the twinkle in her eye as she retorted: 
“But, Ko Ko, what is gold that it can do so much ?” 

“Gold”—said Mr. Ko, smiling his evident relish of her 
pet name for him, “gold is the highest and the most de¬ 
sirable medium in human use. Beauty is gold, the very 
streets of your Heaven are paved with it,-” 

“I’m perfectly willing to concede the power of gold,” 
she interrupted, not waiting for him to finish, “but bills 
and all arithmetic are the curse of civilization.” 

“But don’t you see the inevitable result?” Jerry in¬ 
sisted, ignoring Ko-Yiang’s comment as to gold. 

“There is no such thing,” Esther interrupted. “The 
inevitable is another senseless tradition. If you’re quick 
you can dodge the inevitable just before it hits you.” 

While the words were on her lips her husband stood 
before her, and with him the woman who seemed deter¬ 
mined to win the rich Mr. Ko from her—after all that 
she had sacrificed to get him. 

Decidedly things were not going well with Esther Lan- 
don. She considered herself unwarrantably injured by 
this sudden turning up of her husband, a circumstance ex¬ 
aggerated by the added presence of the American woman. 



WHERE THE TWAIN MET 107 

“Why, Peter!” she exclaimed. “What on earth brings 
you here?” The tone of her voice, the elevation of her 
chin implied that he was trespassing. It was Constance 
who answered: 

“Your husband was good enough to bring me. I picked 
him up as I came from the silk shop of Laou Kai Fook, 
introduced myself, and what does he do but take me di¬ 
rectly to his wife!” 

The only one of the group who seemed entirely at 
ease was Mr. Ko. Why Householder should be upset at 
this, his first sight of Peter Landon since his marriage to 
Esther, even she could not fathom, but with characteristic 
egotism she decided it must be due to jealousy. He need 
no longer be jealous of poor little Peter, who belonged 
with last year’s discarded finery, in the rag bag. 

But why should Mr. Ko show such interest in the 
American woman! Any fool, even a man, might see that 
this Farley missionary creature was not so good looking 
as she. And she listened attentively to what the woman 
was saying for explanation of the look in Mr. Ko’s eyes. 

“But I’m not so sure that I believe in marriage.” That 
was Constance’s answer to some remark of the man, an 
answer that Jerry at once challenged. 

“But what of the human race? You’ve got to have 
marriage, you know, and all that sort of thing.” 

“The human race isn’t any of my responsibility,” the 
eirl said. “The human race will have to look after it¬ 
self.” 

“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Ko with evident enjoyment. 


108 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

“Back to Nature. Quite right! Epicurus. Live while 
you live.” 

“Call it hedonism,” Jerry corrected him. But it was 
Constance who answered, sticking to her guns: 

“Call it all the names you like. It’s the emancipation 
of the weaker sex, which doesn’t mean voting. It’s the 
freedom to live her own life—the freedom to do what 
I’ve done in coming here with you,” she ended, looking 
Jerry straight in the eyes. 

“Will you smoke, my dear?” asked Mr. Ko extending 
her his cigarette case, and added, too tardily, it seemed to 
the Englishman—“lady,” as if he had intended that from 
the first. 

As she turned to accept, Jerry wondered if she saw 
what he saw in the man’s eyes, the calm appraisal, the 
unconcealed desire, the appetite whetted by indulgence. 
If she saw it, it had no visible effect upon her. Could 
it be, the man wondered, that all women at heart enjoyed 
that sort of thing! Did they merely draw the line at the 
confession of it? 

Mr. Ko struck a wax taper on his jewelled gold match 
box, and held the light for her. Could she have failed to 
see the look of sudden hate flashing from the dark eyes 
of that other woman upon whom he turned his back! 

“These American missionary people,” Jerry said, but not 
aloud: “they’re a mystery to me. But then, this girl 
isn’t a missionary at all. She’s quite frankly a heathen. 
And the cause of it—a good deal the same as it was with 
me: she’s seen how hollow it is.” 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 109 

Meantime little Peter Landon, like a lost dog, looked 
vainly from one to the other. It was all Greek to 
Peter. They were talking sheer nonsense which no one 
believed. 

And Esther, his Esther, whom he had called his queen 
and nicknamed Vashti—she was tired of him, had fled to 
the protection—or was it the splendid luxury—of the rich 
Mr. Ko. 

Peter’s new friend stood up and leaned against a syca¬ 
more, facing him and the life of the harbor behind him. 
The smoke of her cigarette hovered in a pretty little white 
cloud just over her shining brown hair, and she spoke so 
that he alone could hear: “It will all come right in the 
end. I know it will.” 

He could answer only with his eyes. They thanked her. 
Without a word he turned back, crossed the Bund, and 
disappeared down Whang-poo Road. 

His wife saw him go, but, curiously enough, it was not 
of him that she was thinking. 

It was entirely through her that this strangely assorted 
company had been brought together. 

Her old flame, Jerry Householder, had written her from 
his retreat in Korea. 

The wild man had got going again, only this time she 
believed he had hit upon something real. She had always 
had a tender spot in her heart for the man whom she had 
refused. In fact, more than once she had doubted the 
wisdom of her choice. 

Jerry was quite a dear, the exciting sort, with his 


no 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


mighty enthusiasms. And Jerry had never married, never 
shown much attention to any other girl. Well—who could 
tell? Isn’t it the part of wisdom to have more than one 
string to one’s bow? 

After she had read his letter a dozen times, she had 
read between the lines as many ideas which might have 
been there. 

And Jerry needed help. He was attempting to do for 
China such work as required a trained diplomat. It was 
quite like him. The only strange feature was that he 
should have confessed that he found himself floundering, 
that he was going ahead not knowing in the least where he 
was going. 

Jerry had been growing up, getting wiser with years, 
with business experience, with the trials of the War. He 
was still Jerry, but he had moved on. 

At first she had assumed that she could do nothing in 
any way to help him. Of course he hadn’t asked for 
help, had simply written in his straightforward way to his 
old friend telling of his difficulty, his unwillingness to let 
go, his inability to do anything by himself. That was all 
that he had written. 

She had to confess to herself that at first it had not 
been pure friendship for Jerry, nor yet a desire to help 
him in thwarting a plot against China—which had induced 
her to tell Mr. Ko about it. Their friendship had come 
to the point where it would do it no harm to introduce 
the suggestion of other men friends. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


hi 


Ko-Yiang was the lordly sort who assumed the impos¬ 
sibility of a rival. If he had ever known such a check 
to monopoly as a little wholesome competition he had not 
acknowledged it. 

Therefore, it was two birds with a single stone if she 
could tighten her hold upon him while showing a kind 
and friendly interest in good old Jerry. 

Her heart told her plainly enough that Jerry was far 
more attractive than Mr. Ko; that there was no possible 
comparison. But then—Jerry was almost as poor as 
Peter Landon. 

The plan had succeeded beyond her fondest hopes. If 
Ko-Yiang had a passion outside of self-indulgence it was 
to make his country great and powerful as it was mighty 
in area and population. 

If China could find her rightful place among the Na¬ 
tions, if she could centralize her government and develop 
independently of other nations—then such as he would be¬ 
come the ruling class. 

Power would be added to his Wealth, and the result 
would be Fame. 

The name of Ko-Yiang would be known the world 
over, even as that of Sun Yat Sen. 

To Mr. Ko’s ambition the letter of Jerry Householder 
seemed to offer the much desired opportunity. 

There might be nothing in the plot discovered by this 
English admirer of Esther Landon. 

He could tell much better when he had seen and talked 


112 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

with the man. It was necessary to trace back to its 
source the intrigue of the Ginkakuji Temple. 

Then, it must be admitted, he was exceedingly jealous 
of his latest acquisition. 

Perhaps it was only by accident that she had revealed 
so warm an affection for this correspondent who was once 
a lover. Had he a rival, a dangerous rival, in this Eng¬ 
lishman whom she had described in such glowing terms? 

If so, he planned to bring the two together where he 
could watch them, could see with his own eyes this blond, 
handsome cavalier making love to his—his what ? Ah! 
the latest gem in his collection. 

There are those who love the agony of tight boots that 
they may enjoy the intense relief when they are taken 
off. 

Ko-Yiang was one of those. He enjoyed the anguish 
of jealousy—would have found extreme pleasure if a 
woman had ventured to treat him with contempt, that 
he might melt her heart by pity to see such a man suf¬ 
fer. 

But such was his dominating side that no woman had 
ever discovered the secret of this contradictory trait. 

He had volunteered to visit Korea, to study the situa¬ 
tion for himself. The result had been his early discovery 
that the plot was harmless, but the man had so impressed 
him as a rival that he had brought him to Shanghai sim¬ 
ply to watch his effect on Esther, to torture himself with 
the daily sight of his rival. 

Naturally a man of such imagination was determined 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


ii3 

to win in the end, when he had had time to study his 
man, to satisfy himself just how much Esther now cared 
for him. 

Such was the state of affairs when the despised Peter 
came down the river in search of his errant wife. Such 
was the situation when there came into the life of the 
cultivated dilettante a woman of a different type from 
any that he had ever known. Such was the embarrass¬ 
ment within the surprise when he found that what had 
been the most important object in his life became a matter 
of secondary importance—secondary to a pair of blue 
eyes, a soft reluctant voice and a manner as frank as 
that of a child. 

Esther knew all this; instinctively she had understood 
what was happening, had struggled to thwart it; knew 
that she had not succeeded. Her one hope lay in the 
fact that thus far the American didn’t even know the havoc 
she had wrought, was evidently untouched by the influence 
of the rich, the masterful, the overpowering Mr. Ko. 

Esther with a woman’s keen perception could see that, 
whatever the effect on Mr. Ko, the woman herself was 
either unconscious of or entirely indifferent to his allure¬ 
ments. 

But then—the American didn’t yet know his princely 
liberality. When she did, it would be time to say whether 
she was indifferent or not. 

With such uncertainty and doubt to vex her, with the 
fear that because of her own suggestion the eccentric Ko- 
Yiang had found more in Korea to interest him than 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


114 

Jerry Householder’s plot, it is no wonder that poor 
Esther was upset at the unexpected appearance of her hus¬ 
band. 

She had sacrificed all that she possessed for Luxury. 
She didn’t even pretend to herself that it was love or 
accident or compulsion. 

She could find ample excuses to justify her conduct. 
She was sure that it had been done before, thousands of 
times. 

No one was ever certain about such things. Everyone 
knows those confidences beginning: “Now, my dear, this 
is strictly confidential,” confidences which prove to be noth¬ 
ing but suspicions supported, it is true, by evidence. But 
evidence isn’t proof. No one can prove anything. 

Often, in discussing it pro and con with herself, she 
had floored her alter ego in the argument by saying: what 
is a pretty woman—yes, pretty, unmistakably pretty!— 
well, what is she to do if she cannot afford clothes, suit¬ 
able friends, opportunity? Is she to live like a fox on 
a desert island, content with a hole in the ground? To 
grow old unseen, unknown, simply to be true to a few 
thoughtless words repeated at the altar when she didn’t 
suspect what she was doing? No! She would recognize 
that she had but one life to live, that a woman grows old 
before she knows it. And she would accept the best 
way out of it, the way that leads to life—not to burial 
alive. 

It was not a deliberate act of heartlessness, this irri¬ 
tation which led to Esther’s slight of the man whom she 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


ii5 

had promised to love, honor and obey. He was in her 
way. If he suspected, he didn’t know what price she had 
paid for Life. 

And as for the promise exacted by the marriage service, 
—how was a woman to promise love at a future date? 
Could she swear that in twenty years she would still rel¬ 
ish a gooseberry tart? 

Well, a promise like that was too absurd to bind any 
one. So she let Peter go—quietly, unobserved, unnoticed 
as he had come. 

Peter, as a topic, could wait. There were other ques¬ 
tions just now which couldn’t wait. To them she gave 
her undivided attention. 


CHAPTER XII 


The ardor of the polygamist is the ardor of the col¬ 
lector. The dog burying bones, the squirrel hoarding 
nuts, the miser gold; each exhibits the patient zeal of 
the collector. To the hunter the joy is in the chase, rather 
than the killing; to the collector possession is the end 
as pearl follows pearl upon his string. 

And Ko-Yiang, the polygamist, was a collector with 
the zeal and the persistence of the true hunter, the skill 
of the specialist and the connoisseur! 

After the first interview he had known that the conquest 
of the American woman would be far harder than he had 
found it with Peter Landon’s discontented wife. There 
was a woman who loved luxury, who craved admiration, 
not the closeted admiration of an obscure man however 
devoted and unselfish he might be, but the sort of admira¬ 
tion that the world would see and envy. 

For such admiration if accompanied with opportunity 
for hitherto unknown luxury, he had seen from his first 
conversation with her, the charming and attractive Mrs. 
Landon would pay the necessary price. One need but 
play upon her weaknesses. To be sure, the player must 
be wealthy and liberal. Enough! Mr. Ko knew full 
well that he was both. And in a surprisingly short time 
n 6 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


ll 7 

he had won. But now? He was by no means tired of 
his new acquisition—which made another by so much the 
harder to accomplish. 

It would by no means suit him to lose the vivacious and 
captivating Esther in order to possess himself of this 
hitherto unknown variety. 

The strange charm of the American had a certain elu¬ 
siveness. Just when he began to feel sure of success, the 
prize almost within his grasp—something would happen to 
show him that she was as far away as ever. 

When he reasoned calmly with himself, invariably he 
attempted to fortify himself against his well known ex¬ 
cesses. 

It was one thing carefully to analyze a woman, to de¬ 
termine where lay her strength, where her weakness, to 
lay siege to her heart by a well prepared campaign. He 
had tried that method and with marked success. 

But—it was quite another matter when, as had also 
happened, his ardent nature ran away with judgment, he 
lost control of himself, forgot or disregarded strategy, 
and undertook to storm the citadel. 

With some, the very desperation, the abandonment of 
the rules of the game, the madness—carried them away 
also. The battle was won by assault. 

But the wisdom born of experience cautioned him that 
to attempt primitive ways with this woman might not 
only be a mistake, might even lead to disaster. 

A strong nature this, if he were any judge, a nature 
fit to cope with his own. A nature such as, if it could 


n8 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

be tempted sufficiently to yield in voluntary surrender, 
would tenfold repay all time and effort spent upon it. 

Constantly, therefore, because he was so ardent, he told 
himself to go slowly, cautiously, and above all not to lose 
his head until she should prove willing. 

To his practiced eye the same method of approach as 
with Esther was out of the question. Liberality—yes, 
that must always be manifest to attract any woman. But 
to this missionary’s daughter one must show mental traits, 
subtlety, understanding, ability to think for oneself. But 
surely the magician had these also in his bag! 

Mr. Ko sat in his dressing room where his Number 
One boy had just finished shaving him, and still hovered 
about to see what service he could render. 

“You know some boys, Palace Hotel, pretty well?” 
asked the master. 

“Yes, Master; very well know some boy there.” 

“Huh! You saw tall Englishman here last night?” 

“Mista Household, eh?” 

“That’s the man. You find out how well he knows 
America lady with him. You say nothing. Under¬ 
stand ?” 

“Yes, Master. I know.” 

“If he is headstrong to believe still in that senseless 
little Japan plot, if he thinks even now I am working 
to thwart that petty scheme, he can be made to believe 
still more. I had thought him very much in my way. 
On the contrary he is going to be quite useful, once I un¬ 
derstand his actual relation to the girl.” 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


119 

Number One boy looked at his master, utterly bewil¬ 
dered. Though spoken in his native tongue it was too com¬ 
plicated, too vague for his mind to follow, so he meekly 
answered once more: “Yes, Master.” 

The two were coming at one o’clock for tiffin. Already 
Mr. Ko had ordered his car to pick them up at the hotel. 

The lovely little Mrs. Landon had too sharp a tongue. 
Why in the name of one’s ancestors couldn’t so pretty a 
woman be always nice! She had been quite petulant when 
they got home last night, apparently because her old lover, 
the Englishman, was consoling himself with Miss Farley. 

That, after all, is the difficulty with the partie carree; 
it isn’t like a dance, nor yet like two sedate European mar¬ 
ried couples. One couldn’t pair them; one couldn’t even 
define the relations of any other two—why, he might even 
lose the dark-eyed Esther while he pursued this new 
woman. 

He could hear again the slow intonation of her soft 
voice, so lazily alluring, voluptuous as a hammock in the 
shade of a tree, and as restful. 

He smiled at himself in the long mirror. Courage! 
He had won many a hard battle in the lists of matrimony 
and its near relations. 

“They call chess a difficult game,” he told his image, 
“but that is one move at a time. Have they never heard 
the adage: ‘The game of love is but half for the player, 
the other half is chance’? Today I study to keep fast 
my little English girl. The trout must not slip through 
the fingers while we angle for the goldfish.” 


120 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


“Eh ? Come in!” he cried in answer to a timid knock 
at his door. 

The knock was repeated, and this time he answered it 
in English. The door opened slowly, and like a fright¬ 
ened child Esther came slowly in—and closed the door 
behind her. 

Number One boy silently withdrew, so gently imper¬ 
sonal that one would believe he saw nothing in the whole 
wide world to cause a wonder or a doubt. 

No longer the petulant little lady, Esther came and 
stood beside the carved chair in which Mr. Ko was seated. 
She had been crying; her eyes were sad and tearful. He 
was a little afraid of coming storm as he sat there waiting 
for her to begin. No silly child, this, to be scolded or 
cajoled by her superiors. He had heard the sharp flashes 
of her speech and had a healthy respect for her ability to 
wield her own weapons. A cunning man, Mr. Ko, who 
knew when silence was the best currency. 

“I’ve been a silly ass long enough,” she said; “now I’m 
going back to poor Peter.” 

“No,” he answered, drawing her down upon his knee, 
and smoothing her sleek black hair as one makes friends 
with a cat. 

“No; this is why you are not going—because he is— 
poor Peter.” 

“But you are tired of me—already. You prefer that 
missionary woman with her slow drawl and her lazy ways. 
Even her voice is so lazy you fall asleep before she 
says it.” 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 121 

He took both her little hands in one of his. She thought 
how black his eyes were, and that he would be better 
looking without that little mustache. His free arm 
crushed her body against his own. There was no trace of 
indifference in the kiss he pressed against her lips. Sud¬ 
denly he whispered: “In my land we say: ‘So many 
stars—to each its place. One stands not to hide the oth¬ 
ers.’ Why cannot two lovely women likewise?” 

“Your country’s saying,” she answered, when he would 
stop to listen, “is rubbish. Only those stars that get in 
front of all the rest are ever seen by us. Yes, you are 
right. Women are likewise. You would hardly believe 
that this sober goose, Jerry Householder, used to be called 
a wild man. Why, I was afraid to marry him! And 
now he’s about as wild as the sexton of a church. One 
would think he had never cared for me—can’t see any¬ 
one but that missionary. Is it at all likely that the little 
Japanese plot he unearthed is of any real consequence?” 

“You jump like the squirrel from branch to branch,” he 
fended. Her mention of the long since exploded plot 
suggested a possibility. Why not use that, coupled with 
the seriousness which had come to the Englishman, as a 
result of the war! He could see great possibilities in this 
if properly handled. 

“They are coming for tiffin,” he concluded aloud. “My 
little sweetheart shall help to entertain them. One day 
her grateful friend and ad-mir-er shall give her nice little 
run-about motor for appreciation of—her—understand¬ 
ing.” 


122 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


She knew he was buying her again. All sorts of cut¬ 
ting replies flashed into her quick mind, only to be re¬ 
pressed by what she chose to call common sense. You 
couldn’t expect to make friends with the mammon of un¬ 
righteousness without some sort of sacrifice. This man 
meant not comfort merely, but luxury. He had but to 
snap his fingers and Heaven opened its pearly gates upon 
its streets of gold. 

“And Peter?” he added, for he had seen what were 
her thoughts. 

“Peter!” she repeated contemptuously. “Peter? I’d 
forgotten there was such a person.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


When Peter fled down Nanking Road, for it was a 
flight* he had no definite idea, except to get away from 
an intolerable situation. He must get by himself to think 
it over. Perhaps then it wouldn’t prove to be so bad 
as it looked. 

He walked on as far as the race track where two young 
Englishmen were trying out a couple of new ponies. He 
turned in at the gate, glad that he was a member of the 
Race Club and had a right to be there. In the shadow 
of the stables he sat down, vaguely aware of the green 
grass, of trees, of the thud of racing feet. 

Esther was the bowstring kept taut until it must break 
or be relaxed. Monotony, that was the real trouble; sick 
and tired of the life, but not of him. Here he smiled, 
that little wry smile that was rather a fight to keep back 
the tears. It was only jealously, unreasonable jealousy, 
that made him think there was anything—well, anything 
intimate, out of the way, between his wife and Ko-Yiang. 

To be at all, anything like that must have been deliber¬ 
ate on her part. It wasn’t fair to that brightest and pret¬ 
tiest of all women to harbor such an unjust suspicion for 
a moment! 

Just like her, though, not to care tuppence what any- 
123 


124 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


one thought. If they were base enough, let ’em think 
what they would and go hang! He could hear her saying 
it. 

“And I’ll back you up, old girl,” he concluded, when 
he had gone all over it a dozen times. 

“You’re quite all right, and not the sort to throw your 
life away in a hut on the banks of the Yangtse.” 

This time the tears really were in his eyes, but they 
weren’t tears of pity for himself; they were tears of ap¬ 
preciation for the brilliant girl who had given him her 
heart and hand before she knew how much of sacrifice 
the giving entailed. He got up and walked back to the 
water front still pondering Esther and his duty to her. 
If she also had a duty toward him such a thought was 
absent from his consideration. 

The tall man, Householder, came in for his share. 
How could it have been that Esther ever threw that man 
over to marry him ? He little understood that Esther had 
many times asked herself the same question. 

Five hours later a spare little man stood at the rail 
of a river steamer going west. All the other passengers 
were below at dinner. The soft breeze blew the thin 
locks of his sandy hair back from his forehead. A na¬ 
tive patiently fishing on the bank saw the little man on 
the deck and called out to his grandson: “See yonder, 
another old man travels up the river.” 

Once more Peter Landon was unsettling the question 
which he had settled at the Race Club. If it were so, 
if the worst were true, what then? Would it be his duty 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


125 


to denounce her before the world? Some men went in 
for shooting and all that sort of thing if the case were 
proven. But what good was ever done by that sort of 
violence! If it all came against her will—but that’s a 
very different thing. 

Other men might settle it to suit themselves, but he, 
Peter Landon, knew that it wasn’t in him to feel rage 
toward his wife or toward the man. The very sus¬ 
picion that it might be so made him faint, and coupled 
with the sickness was horrible disappointment with him¬ 
self. He had won her, probably by her own error of 
judgment, and having won he couldn’t hold her against 
the first competitor—or was it ennui? 

Things were not going well at the mine. He had 
meant to tell her, to explain why he had so long post¬ 
poned the promised visit to Shanghai; but he had been 
fearful of one of her outbursts of temper. He fairly 
cringed to hear himself called a coward, a failure, some¬ 
thing less than half a man. 

If he had recovered the lost fortune there, if he-could 
lavish money on her—as Mr. Ko had done since he first 
met her—*— 

Once, long ago, yet not so long, they had come up the 
river together on this very boat. Passing this very spot, 
her hand in his, she had talked of their future; she had 
hoped there would be children. And before they went 
below she had leant against him and whispered: “Do 
you love me, Peter? How much?” 

Yes, she had cared then, for just a little while. 


126 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


“Massa, no b’long dinnertime down below?” asked the 
sedate and gentle steward at his elbow. Peter smiled 
and shook his head. 

“Sickee? My bling-” 

Once more he shook his head and uttered a final No! 

What strange creatures, these white men! thought the 
kindly steward as he glided noiselessly away. So much 
good food below, yet this man would rather look at the 
river water than eat his fill! 

Darkness came, and still the little man leaned against 
the rail peering out at nothing; but the emptiness out 
there was cheerful compared to the emptiness within. 
Morning would come, and with it, light. Homes, such as 
they were, the day would bring along that river bank; men 
and their wives, children, happiness and love were out 
there in the dark. 

Somewhere, somehow, he had failed her. Tears, 
blinding his eyes, fell unheeded into the great river which 
would bear them down to Shanghai, where she might see 
them on the morrow. And if she should see them, should 
know that they were his? She would laugh, might even 
point them out to her wealthy friend. 

He shivered; the air was cold. It was very late. The 
little man crept down the companionway, through the dim 
corridor to his cabin where he lay down fully dressed 
upon his bunk and stared up at two shadows which 
swayed in an endless game of tag on the low ceiling. 

Perhaps, if he could sell his claim and holdings in the 
mine for a few hundred pounds, he might take a clerk- 



WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


127 


ship in the bank at Shanghai, and then Esther—but what 
could Esther do on his tiny salary? Besides—no one 
would buy his holdings. Fast in a trap—that described 
his position—a trap- 

A bell was ringing—but what had a bell to do with 
traps? Footsteps clattering overhead. A voice calling 
out: “Stand ready there—make her fast!” 

Peter sprang to his feet. He was stiff with a cramp 
in his leg. They were up at the dock in Nanking. Al¬ 
ready a line of coolies was coming aboard. Jinricksha 
men were quarreling for passengers coming ashore. 
Peter picked up his father’s old portmanteau and went 
ashore with the rest. 

Before noon, in his own little launch he passed the yel¬ 
low cottage without so much as a glance of recognition. 
Already he was late, the mine superintendent could not 
be trusted to run even their small business without 
him. 

Then followed the usual futile day of worry and ef¬ 
fort with no tangible result. Evening brought him back 
to what he once called home, an empty, cheerless place. 
A brown rat on the kitchen table was finishing the last 
crumbs of a meat pie made with infinite pains by Peter 
himself the day before he left for Shanghai. He would 
have sworn he locked it up in the buttery. 

The day he made that pie a little blue bird was sing¬ 
ing to him that he might possibly bring Esther back with 
him. Just as he put it in the oven that hope had grown 
so strong that he marked the pie with a big “V.” 



128 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

“That’s for Vashti,” he said aloud. “How she will 
laugh!” 

And now the rats had eaten it—and all because when 
his portmanteau was packed his heart failed him. He 
knew very well she wouldn’t give up the god Mammon 
for Peter Landon and his meat pie. So he had forgotten 
even to lock it up. 

Ugh! The place was cold! Dust, dust over every¬ 
thing. Soot from the oil stove still hung in the air. He 
could smell soot and dust and the reek of worse things in 
that neglected house. 

The two little beds in the bedroom were ghastly spec¬ 
tres ; only a mattress on hers, his own still worse with its 
bedclothes a jumbled heap at the foot where he had 
thrown them. In the little mirror over her dressing ta^ 
ble, where he had so many times watched her as she 
brushed those glossy thick strands of black hair, he 
saw a white anxious face. Fight? For what object? 
Hadn’t he already fought—and lost? 

Hunger drove him back to the kitchen. The brown 
rat was gone. He lighted the oil stove, made a pot of 
strong tea, found bread in a tin box, and toasted three 
slices. A tumbler of marmalade half full was on the 
shelf; he ate all that was left of it. 

With tea and toast and marmalade came sanity and 
courage. His pipe and tobacco lay on the mantel in the 
living room. Was it the stimulant, the nourishment, or 
the depressant that gave him new hope, that dusted the 
neglected rooms after a fashion, let in enough fresh air 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


129 


to blow out the soot and the smells, that finally sent him 
to bed almost persuaded, after that last pipeful, that she 
might come back? 

Whichever it was, he knew when the tide turned; 
knew that on the incoming wave happiness was no longer 
a mockery. He had been happy—he was morally certain 
to be happy again. 

Wasn’t Esther his wife, and the brightest, wittiest and 
prettiest girl he ever knew? 

Peter made his bed properly, and went to sleep with a 
smile on his lips, for he was thinking of her. He was 
even imagining that she was there in that bed next his 
own, and she was chaffing him for being jealous. It 
made him rather ashamed. But it was heavenly to hear 
that musical laugh, heavenly to think that she cared. 

A cold wind came down the river; it rattled a blind on 
the bedroom window. The yellow coffin outside trem¬ 
bled in the darkness. The brown rat unsatisfied had 
come back to the kitchen. But Peter smiled and slept. 


CHAPTER XIV 


“The English have a saying about a Divinity that 
shapes our ends—is this not so?” 

Mr. Ko was still awaiting the arrival of his two guests 
for tiffin. Esther Landon who was with him answered: 
“Poetry, my dear; and poetry, like antique furniture, never 
stands squarely on its legs.” 

“I didn’t know this—that poetry had legs.” 

“You must have scanned them, stupid; at least its 
feet” 

But Mr. Ko was not listening. He was thinking how 
strange it was that he had taken all this trouble to get 
the Englishman here, because he was jealous of him as 
Esther’s former lover. And now—he was jealous for 
fear that he might outrun him in the race to get the 
American girl. 

He smiled grimly as he thought how lucky that he had 
kept him deceived about that silly plot over which he had 
wasted so much zeal. It was to torture himself with the 
sight of them together, to study how deep the impression 
which he had to efface, that he had invited them today. 
Something indefinable, indescribable, about that American 
girl appealed to Mr. Ko, caught him in its meshes, en¬ 
thralled him, as he felt that he had never before been 
caught. 


130 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


I 3 i 

Now it must be admitted that Mr. Ko had had number¬ 
less experiences, could qualify as an expert, and was ex¬ 
ceeding wise in the ways of the world—to say nothing of 
the flesh and the devil. 

Mr. Ko stretched his long legs out to the coal fire in 
his grate and pondered what use to make of Jerry House¬ 
holder in possessing himself of the American girl. First 
he must see how much they cared for each other. Then 
he must discover what road led to the girl’s heart. Ex¬ 
perience had shown him that with the great majority that 
road, like the streets of the Christian Heaven, was paved 
with gold. 

Ah, but some must be carried vi et armis as in the Rape 
of the Sabines. 

Sometimes the stoniest hearts were softened by the unc¬ 
tion of Flattery. 

Well, he had all these arrows in his quiver. Number 
Two Boy came up to say that guests had arrived. He 
was in time to prevent Esther Landon from a difficult 
decision. With a woman’s perception she had seen the 
advent of Mr. Ko’s new passion, had been trying to devise 
some way to circumvent or counteract it. Thus far with 
out success. 

Had he been Anglo-Saxon as he lolled there before 
the fire in receptive mood, she would have / contrived some 
petting method, such as rumpling his hair and stroking 
his head with deft fingers that sometimes strayed over 
his face. Most men and dogs can be won by this simple, 
manual attention. 


132 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


But not the god Mammon. That jet hair, shining from 
the ministrations of an expert—no sane woman would 
dare profane that shrine or trample upon the sacred tradi¬ 
tions which decreed that in all such affairs woman must 
be utterly passive, subject without question to the will 
of her lord and master. 

Barred from taking the initiative, she was forced to 
invent some situation to show the man his need of her, 
or to contrast her virtues and charms with the othei 
woman’s shallowness and superficiality. 

Possibly she might avoid this difficult task if she could 
re-waken his jealousy of Jerry, good old Jerry who was 
so different since the war. 

Her first opportunity came when they were seated at 
table, and she could ask “that Farley missionary woman,” 
as she had persistently spoken of her, “Did you know that 
an action is likely to be brought against you for appro¬ 
priating an escort on whom I have a prior claim?” 

Jerry looked embarrassed and began to protest. “Oh, 
I say now-” 

But Constance’s soft, un-American voice answered, lei¬ 
surely as usual, “I plead guilty, Mrs. Landon, and the 
worst of it was that when I appropriated him I never 
suspected that he was your husband. And, by the way, 
what has become of him? Why isn’t he with us?” 

“I didn’t mean,” Esther began, then thinking it better 
to let the cat score, “that is—my husband is too busy, 
running a worthless mine.” 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


133 

“How interesting! And how does one—run a mine? 
I thought of them as exploding.” 

“They run them into the ground—once they start,” 
Esther retorted. 

“Oh, I see—the old confusion again between mine and 
thine.” 

Now, curiously, it was in Constance’s readiness to cross 
swords with the other woman, in her calm, unruffled man¬ 
ner of holding her own, that Mr. Ko found the evidence 
of what he had before suspected. For Jerry Householder 
was plainly proud of Constance Farley as he was an¬ 
noyed by Esther’s attempt to bait her and put her in an 
awkward position regarding him. 

And he had brought this man to Shanghai for so dif¬ 
ferent a purpose! However, no cause for regret, for 
without him Miss Farley would not have come to China. 

Whether Householder understood it or not, his host 
from that very moment knew that the Englishman was 
much taken with the American woman. It had long been 
plain to him regarding that old love for Esther Landon, 
that it was of the dead past. He would have felt keener 
about her, in fact, had there been some such competition. 

These Englishmen were hard to handle because they 
didn’t understand diplomacy. Everything must be bang 
out in the open. 

“I hear pretty bad stories about your Japanese plotters,” 
he said, watching Jerry’s face for the effect. 

“Bad—in what way?” Jerry asked, interested at once. 


134 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


“Are the rotters getting ahead? Have they done any¬ 
thing in China?” 

“I fear so. It is all ver-y quiet doings—so no one hears 
about it. Headquarters now in Seoul. Easy to work 
from there. Should you be willing if we could use you 
a little more in this?” 

“Anything in my power, I’m ready to do,” Jerry prom¬ 
ised with almost his old wartime fervor. 

What astonishing men, these British! thought Mr. Ko. 
One has but to raise the cry for help and they come run¬ 
ning like dogs to the whistle! They haven’t yet learned 
the old world maxim: “To live one must care first for 
himself.” Christianity has made them easy to handle, like 
hunting dogs. 

Tiffin was being served with the perfection of Chinese 
system—all so noiseless and gently handled that the dishes 
seemed to appear by magic, the glasses to refill themselves 
with the choicest wine. 

Mr. Ko, watching his guests, noted that the American 
ate and drank and smoked her cigarette with the same in¬ 
dolent grace which had charmed and surprised him in her 
speech. 

“We have with us today, as your banquet masters of 
the toast say, two ver-ee singular example of unusual in 
the English and the American.” 

Thus the host began a deliberate attempt to pit the two 
women against each other that he might study them. 

“They are unusual,” Jerry agreed, “but I wonder, do 
you see what I see in this respect?” 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


135 

“What I see,” Ko-Yiang explained, “is English girl 
lively, vivacious as French, French in looks also, in the 
quick wit and ready re-tort. And American, not to speak 
so with the nose, not to make slangy language, nor quick, 
violent action. But everywhere, every way so calm, so— 
plenty of time—like the Spanish. Now you, big and 
blond and literal, are English type. I am Chinese type— 
nothing else.” 

“Why all this analysis?” Esther interrupted him, to 
which his only answer was a shrug and the extending of 
his long yellow hands in token of granting all in his pos¬ 
session to give. 

But Esther, not contented, anxious to know what valua¬ 
tion he put upon so different characteristics, must have 
more. 

“I know you wouldn’t be so rude, but it almost seemed 
like classing us women as the quick and the dead.” 

“Or was it,” drawled Constance, “the tortoise and the 
hare?” 

“My word!” this from Jerry, “there’s an idea!” 

Mr. Ko pulling at the rat tail ends of his mustache 
said nothing. His black eyes were narrowed into slits 
through which he watched, delighted at the success of his 
manoeuvre. 

“Personalities aren’t a pretty topic, are they?” Esther 
said. “ ’Twould be safer to go back to my poor husband.” 

“Oh, really! And when do you go? I suppose you 
get horribly homesick having to be away so long.” 

If Constance meant to be hateful, nothing in her tone 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


136 

or expression betrayed it. She was absolutely a person 
who had misunderstood. 

The blandest manner, however, couldn’t deceive Esther 
Landon. She had deliberately gone to work to make this 
American look cheap. Thus far she herself had got the 
worst of it, and it galled her to think it should have been 
before Jerry Householder. Once, years ago, when he was 
in love with her, he had criticized her: “You are a bril¬ 
liant monologuist—but in a duel your best thoughts re¬ 
fuse to come. Keep out of arguments.” 

She had been deeply offended at the time, but she was 
too bright not to have discovered since that Jerry might 
have been somewhere near the truth. 

Esther waited to give the other woman time to add to her 
remark and spoil it. Not even by a smile of triumph did 
Miss Farley betray any emotion. Finally Esther answered 
with a touch of asperity: “My plans are very uncertain. 
When my host begins to weary of my society-” 

“Ah! my dear lady,” protested Mr. Ko, “you speak of 
eternity.” 

“Very pretty, very French, and very delightful if half 
true.” She smiled her thanks as well, and Mr. Ko was 
pleased, for he thought he detected a look of jealousy 
in the eyes of the American, or of envy at least. And 
what woman would not be envious of one who was a 
favorite of the great god Gold! 

Like all his educated countrymen, Ko-Yiang in his use 
of the English language varied from perfect grammatical 
form to a vernacular little short of translation from the 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 137 

Chinese. This seems due in most cases to the degree of 
concentration on the language itself. Often an interest 
in the topic will lead the speaker to a careless use of the 
medium he employs, when if using his own language, ac¬ 
curate expression is the prerequisite of straight abstract 
thought. 

Householder was asking some question of Miss Farley 
that had to do with financial affairs in the United States, 
to which she was trying to give a satisfactory answer 
based on very limited knowledge. 

Esther saw that it was an excellent opportunity to en¬ 
gage Mr. Ko so as to keep him out of obvious tempta¬ 
tion. It seemed ridiculous that, intimate as they were, she 
dared not even now attempt to draw him into cosy, intim¬ 
ate .conversation. You couldn’t flirt with the Bank of 
England even if you had surrendered to it all right and 
title to whatever was yours to give. And your princely 
Chinese gentleman also was an institution. She smiled at 
her own irony as she surveyed the metaphor, for he also 
was a banking institution. 

If the bank were in the mood to call upon her—she 
could only play her part by suggestion well covered up. 
This was in the nature of fresh deposits. 

“You are the cleverest host I ever saw,” she said quite 
low. “It is wonderful the way you put every guest at 
ease, and yet you must see clearly enough how some peo¬ 
ple, thinking you simple because an Oriental, try to use 
you.” 

“You say these people think me simple? This is to be 


138 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

a fool. Who says this? From where did you hear it? 
Simple?” He was getting excited, mistaking her mean¬ 
ing, not understanding that she dealt with vague generali¬ 
ties. 

Esther laid her white, slender hand on his, long and 
yellow. She could feel the white jade Buddha on the 
signet ring worn on his thumb. It was cold and hard. 
He turned to her, surprised by such boldness in public. 
His self-esteem was wounded and his face was like the 
Buddha on his ring. 

Tiffin was over. Little cups of tea had given place to 
little European glasses of brandy. As they rose Con¬ 
stance wondered whether it were his heavy silk robes or 
the habit of command which gave him the dignity of the 
Supreme Court in session. 


CHAPTER XV 


An hour later Constance Farley came down the stairs 
wearing the plain cloth coat which was her best. She 
was going back to the Palace Hotel. It was only a com¬ 
fortable walking distance. Jerry was waiting for her in 
the hall, where also their host and Mrs. Landon had come 
out to say an informal good-bye. 

With the peculiar ,gliding motion of a bird about to 
light, and of some animals in motion, Constance crossed 
the hall. Suddenly it occurred to Jerry Householder that 
she moved with seductive grace. So sudden was the 
thought, so foreign to his habitual mood that he felt 
ashamed as if he had been prying, had no right to see it. 
Glancing up he met the dark glowing eyes of Ko-Yiang. 
He saw written in them all that he had thought, and 
much more. 

Instantly what he had feared and dimly suspected re¬ 
garding Esther Landon became established fact. The 
man’s soul stood there naked for Jerry Householder to 
note its imperfections. 

But Constance Farley was looking frankly into those 
same eyes, yet what she saw could not displease her. She 
was the ideally appreciative guest. Mr. Ko, holding her 
hand in both of his, said: “So that is a promise—for to¬ 
morrow. You will not disappoint?” 

139 


140 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

“A promise,” she repeated, “and I will try not to dis¬ 
appoint.” 

When they had gone Esther remarked: “I asked you 
once how you, a Chinese, ever learned to kiss-” 

“Yes,” he answered absently, for his thoughts were on 
the motion of that other woman’s hips. “And I told 
you-?” 

“That it had been a part of your European education.” 

“The wise man,” he added, giving her now his whole 
attention, “is he who takes from each Nation the best 
which it has to give. I have tried to do this.” 

“And whence comes the love of secrecy, intrigue, 
mystery ?” 

To this leading question his answer was sure to be 
denial of any such habit or taste, and thus she could in¬ 
troduce the missionary as a topic for discussion. Once 
again she learned how little she knew her man. 

“This trait,” he admitted blandly as he lighted a fresh 
cigarette, having politely offered her one which she de¬ 
clined with a shake of the head, “this trait the Chinese 
does not learn; he is born with it.” 

Number One Boy was waiting patiently to be noticed. 
His master interrogated him without speech, but by the 
lifting of his eyebrows. The man began chanting what 
sounded like a hymn in minor key, his hands held clasped 
behind his back like a schoolboy reciting; what he said 
would have been utterly unintelligible to Esther had she 
not caught: Pa-lace Ho-tel. 

“I have made already visit to my friend of Palace 



WHERE THE TWAIN MET 141 

Hotel,” the man was explaining. “Boys there know 
English not have that girl for his wife, not yet. He 
say English make plenty call, more and more; not night 
times, not yet. He say boy make plenty mistake all 
time—rush into room when he there. They feller talkee 
much; do nothing!” he ended in Pidgin English as a 
tribute to the puzzled guest of the house. But if Mr. 
Ko noticed the sudden lapse of his Number One Boy he 
was too crafty to betray it, and Esther dared not cross 
the dead line of decorum to ask him a question concern¬ 
ing his affairs. 

Nevertheless she could wonder why this report of 
something which had to do with the hotel where Jerry 
and that woman were staying. She tried a random shot. 
“ ‘Much talk and no action,’ is the definition I heard a 
Frenchman give of American women.” 

“Might this not also be applied to the plays of Shake¬ 
speare ?” he asked. “They too are of surpassing beauty.” 

He was teasing. A sudden inspiration came to her. 
“Seriously, if I could help you better to—to understand 
beautiful American women—you know that I should be 
glad? You know that you could trust me?” 

Versatile as he had found her, this was a complete sur¬ 
prise. His eyes acknowledged it though his lips waited 
to make sure that she was not playing a part to mislead 
him. 

“Esther,” he said finally with that warmth of tone and 
inflection which had first fascinated her. “If you would 
so help me I should love you not less as you in the heart 


142 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


imagine. No, no—more than ever, for you would show 
the perfect trust of the friend.” 

“That; or the folly of one who helps another woman 
to supplant her?” 

“No, not that. Never do you get the idea that a man 
may love both laughter and song; blue and yellow. One 
does not forbid the other. Is not the average American 
good at conversing?” 

“Their conversation is of the vacuum cleaner type. It 
leaves nothing to the imagination.” 

“Possibly you mean it leaves everything clean.” 

“Not exactly that,” she corrected him. “It cleans up 
the subject so thoroughly and without discrimination, it 
even tears the buttons from one’s clothes.” 

“But you will help me?” he countered. 

“Yes, if you wish. I will show the extent of my 
friendship.” 

“And you will not find me ungrateful,” he ended as, ac¬ 
cording to his custom, he went to write and study and be 
alone for a few hours before dinner. 

Jerry and Constance, meantime, were walking home. 
Constance, before they had walked a hundred yards, was 
aware of a change in the man whom she had begun to 
regard as a brother. Never having had a brother, -she 
imagined that sisters felt exactly as she felt: a mixture 
of gratitude for strength and protection, with a fair share 
of every woman’s desire to mother a man. If the attrac¬ 
tion of sex were there also as the complement of her own 
she seemed not to recognize it. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


143 

Yet instinctively she knew that he was different from 
his former self. There was a sudden shyness for which 
she could find no explanation. A queer time this to be¬ 
come shy when they had been throwing to the winds every 
convention, defying the world to say or think unspeakable 
things! 

Had there, perhaps, been talk which had but now 
reached his ears? He was a contradiction all the way 
through, this bold but modest, wild but singularly civilized 
and considerate man. 

“1 like your friend, Mrs. Landon,” she began. “She 
isn’t as happy as she looks. Somehow I think that dear 
little, pathetic husband of hers is on her conscience. 
She’d be harder than stone if he wasn’t. Isn’t it a pity 
that so few people know what they’re doing when they 
get married!” 

“I’ve never been married,” Jerry said, “so I suppose 
I’m not entitled to an opinion. I think the trouble is 
they don’t understand give and take. If I had a 
wife-” 

“Yes—if you had a wife?” 

He didn’t wish to think anything of the sort, but his 
mind kept saying, “she’d have to move with your se¬ 
ductive glide.” 

Not being subtle enough to think of one thing and say 
another he was embarrassed. He stole a glance at her 
walking there by his side, and vowed that he would in¬ 
vent some excuse to watch her from a distance coming 
towards him. To his surprise she walked exactly as she 



WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


144 

talked, as she moved her hands; yes, it was even in her 
eyes. 

And Ko-Yiang had seen it, and had looked at her with 
those black and yellow eyes. Possessive, that described 
his peculiar way of looking. Sometimes a long way off 
you would see a man looking at a horse. Some atmos¬ 
phere or manner or gesture indescribable told you that 
the man knew he had but to say yes or no to decide 
the ownership of that horse. Exactly that possessive ar¬ 
rogance marked the appraisal of Mr. Ko. If he decided 
that he wanted her, the next and only other question must 
be : How much ? 

“Well, I haven’t yet heard what she would have to do, 
or be.” 

“Right,” he agreed. “You see it dawned upon my 
darkness just then that I had no idea what she would or 
wouldn’t be. It’s likely I’d be a silly ass like all the 
rest.” 

He, who had been singularly free from the vice of 
curiosity, knew at that instant that he was desirous to 
know what engagement the American had with Ko* 
Yiang that was a promise for the morrow. And just 
what could she have meant by that: “I promise and I 
will try not to disappoint” ? 

Was that what he had seen in Mr. Ko’s eyes—antici¬ 
pation of tomorrow? Was that also the meaning of the 
seductive charm of her every gesture, every intonation, 
every glance of the eyes? Was it thus she could promise 
not to disappoint? 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


T 45 

A new note came now into his voice. He hadn’t thus 
far admitted to himself any feeling of jealousy. What 
were these people to him? He had abandoned his posi¬ 
tion in Shizuoka not for this singularly heterogeneous 
group with whom he was living. To be sure, since his 
mother’s death he had been financially independent, but 
he had come away from Japan solely because of a plot 
which threatened his own country. 

This woman beside him—a chance acquaintance—he 
might walk off tomorrow and never see her again. But, 
even as he thought the words, he knew that suddenly it 
had become impossible for him to leave her. 

He told himself that chivalry might demand that he see 
her through. The next moment that notion was scorn¬ 
fully rejected. Chivalry? Did that girl need any 
champion, any protector, but her own cool and clever 
self ? 

In his abstraction he failed to notice that she had 
ventured no reply. He went on, therefore, in answer to 
his own thoughts, but in what seemed to her an abrupt 
turn: “A man judges women by his mother—if he never 
had sisters. My mother was the old-fashioned, black al¬ 
paca type.” 

“I didn’t know there was—of course I’ve heard of men 
of the cloth. Is alpaca the feminine?” 

“More or less, yes—and cloth-topped Congress boots 
with patent leather toe caps went with the black alpaca, 
and a cap with flowing lace strings and a Thou Shalt 
Not creed; a grave suspicion of all that is really hu- 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


146 

man, and a conviction that: If you like it, it’s wrong!” 

“And would your apparent disappointment in that 
type-” 

“Call it repugnance,” he interrupted. 

“Well, would repugnance to that type lead you to seek 
the opposite extreme, one of the sort that has complexes 
but no morals—whose life is wholly physical as the other 
was metaphysical?” 

“What would you yourself say to that?” he asked 
bluntly. “I’ve always felt like adding a line to 'All’s 
right with the World.’ God’s in his Heaven; Satan’s in 
his Hell; Everything in its proper place. 

“By Jove, that’s a bit cryptic for me,” he acknowl¬ 
edged. 

The deeper in it sank, the more puzzling he found it. 
It by no means cleared up his uncertainty as to that 
promise to Ko-Yiang. One could interpret this either 
way. 

He kept repeating to himself that what this young 
woman thought or did was no concern of his. And the 
oftener he said it the less could he make himself believe 
it. Finally he spoke aloud: “You see if I’d had a black 
alpaca sister-” 

“A sister,” she broke in, “would have worn a hoop 
skirt, to be really consistent, and pantalettes with a sweet 
smile to match.” 

“I get the picture,” he assented, “hoop skirt, panta¬ 
lettes, pig-tail braids—all but the smile to match.” 

“To match the pantalettes. You see it in old daguer- 



WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


147 

reotypes; looks as if it had come undone and was slipping 
off” 

“And have sisters improved so much since the Vic¬ 
torian type?” he asked in his literal way. 

“Whether it’s an improvement or not,” she said, “it’s 
a big jump from the insecure pantalette to the permanent 
wave.” 

“Do you know,” she broke off, “we are talking as 
though we weren’t half so—so well acquainted as we 
were yesterday.” 

“Strange,” he admitted, knowing in his heart that after 
this discovery of his it couldn’t be otherwise—“but which 
way do you like better?” 

“Better?” she repeated. 

“Excuse, please!” and from nowhere, with the noise¬ 
less stealth of his race, appeared before them Ko-Yiang’s 
Number One Boy. He was bareheaded, and he bowed 
low in token of his estimate of his master’s esteem. 

He held out a note neatly sealed and addressed to her. 
Constance thanked him, much to his surprise, whereupon 
with the words, “No ansee,” he was gone, quietly, swiftly 
as he had come. 

She folded the envelope, and held it in her hand. 

“Don’t you care to read it?” Jerry asked. ‘Til ex¬ 
cuse you.” 

“It will keep,” she said, “on the ice,” and tucked it 
into the bosom of her dress. 

They had reached their hotel. She lingered at the 
office but a moment, then went up in the lift. 


148 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

Jerry was left alone. He got out his pipe, stuffed it 
from his pouch, and when it was lighted and drawing well 
he took it from his lips to address it. 

“My God!” he exclaimed, “what could she mean by 
that?” 


CHAPTER XVI 


Promptly at three, as she had agreed the day before, 
Constance Farley came down to the office of the Palace 
Hotel, looked about for a moment to see if he or one of 
his were there; then going to the front door she stepped 
out into Nanking Road. 

A row of rickshaw boys before the door were scurry¬ 
ing to get their little carriages out of the way of an ar¬ 
rogant motor car of English make. 

On the front seat beside the driver sat a blue and yel¬ 
low uniform containing a man whose face was a yellow 
mask. As the car stopped, the uniform stepped out to 
open the door, but no one else so much as stirred. The 
uniform faced the door of the hotel. Catching sight of 
Constance Farley the right hand touched the forehead 
of the man inside the uniform. 

She crossed the narrow sidewalk. Esther Landon was 
in the car with Mr. Ko. Apparently either pleased or 
amused by this discovery Constance was smiling as she 
stepped in. The uniform closed the door, resumed its 
place in front. The car glided out on to the Bund, turned 
to the right, and after passing the Hong Kong and Shang¬ 
hai Bank took another turn to the right. 

“Why a ride in the French quarter?” Jerry, who had 
seen all this from the street corner, asked himself. He 
149 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


150 

was glad that chance had delayed him at the Bank where 
he had gone to cash his first draft from Japan to repay 
Mr. Ko for money generously lent him—glad because he 
might just as well know how things stood between those 
two—he, who had already fallen headlong in love had 
no notion of being precipitate or allowing himself to be¬ 
come interested in any one who cared nothing for him. 
Not he! 

So he took a seat in the hotel office where he could read 
his book with an eye on the door where she must appear 
when that mysterious promise was fulfilled. Instead of 
reading he was asking himself questions, impossible ques¬ 
tions, for how could he know whether this expedition 
were a ride, a shopping tour—By Jove, it was a consola¬ 
tion to know that Esther was there. Good old Esther, no 
one had ever fooled her more than once—with that quick 
tongue of hers. Glad you turned me down, old dear. 
It would have been a rum go—with all her fondness for 
show and universal attention. 

The big car had to pick its way very slowly where so 
many walked in the narrow streets. At every corner its 
horn blared a warning, and the poor scurried into door¬ 
ways to make way for Wealth and Luxury. But even 
the poor in their blue cotton, flitting by the red painted 
fronts of shops, the gay dragons in gold and green, under 
the lanterns dangling in festoons across the street, were 
picturesque and attractive if one didn’t come too near. 

To left, to right, to left again they turned. Every¬ 
where the same chattering crowds that seemed to be the 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


151 

very beings they had left in the street behind them, and 
in the street behind that. Crowds and color ; crowds 
and the smell of China and Chinese; crowds and Mys¬ 
tery; crowds with a History that made the oldest in 
Europe a thing of yesterday. 

At a little shop next the vendor of live geese, an old 
man with a long white beard, a thin beard that was all 
one with his thin white mustache, offered wares of carved 
ivory and embroidered silks. 

On the corner a little man, half-covered rather than 
clad, wheezed to all passers-by the virtues of his ear 
cleaners, tiny wads of cotton wool on tiny bamboo sticks, 
hanging in a wreath from a bamboo frame like a broken 
bird cage. 

No one bought, but the little man’s zeal never flagged. 
Some one might buy. His profit on a sale was fitly por¬ 
trayed by Esther who exclaimed as the car came to a stop: 

“That old fellow’s sales in a day must mount up to 
about seven cents Mexican, but what keeps his courage 
up is thinking of the enormous percentage of profit over 
cost.” 

“It is all extremely interesting,” Constance exclaimed. 
“And quite different from Korea or Japan.” 

At a little wicket in a heavy door two very black eyes 
over high yellow cheek bones calmly surveyed the three 
as they got out of the car. 

“Where are we? What is here?” Constance heard 
Esther ask their host, who heeded the question no more 
than the importunities of the seller of ear cleaners. As 


152 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


for Constance, it was a pleasant adventure, this going into 
the heart of the native city with a native of the natives. 
The heavy door swung open. The three stepped into a 
narrow passage that seemed dark coming directly from 
the daylight outside. 

A long way off a faint red light glowed from a hang¬ 
ing lamp. 

The air was heavy with a smell that made Constance 
think of “burnt offerings.” Under their feet the carpet 
was so thick one felt unsteady on it. The walls were 
hung with some fabric which gave to the touch, but gave 
slowly because of its weight. 

Somewhere a voice chanted, talking in Chinese. The 
sentinel from the door uttered three words in three keys 
and Mr. Ko answered him in one. The man led on 
through the corridor. The others followed, like ghosts, 
for they made no sound as they went. 

At the end of the corridor they came into the room 
where the red lamp swung from the ceiling. Half a 
dozen other lamps gave each the candle light of a little 
wick floating in oil, so that at first the room seemed 
dim. 

Soon Constance made out bunks on two walls, one 
above another, like the berths in a ship. The room was 
not large, scarcely more than six yards in length. If 
it had windows they were concealed by the heavy red 
hangings. In this room also the floor was thickly car¬ 
peted. Every sound was muffled. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


153 

Following the example of the others Constance sat 
upon, or rather sank into a wide divan where she re¬ 
clined between her host and Esther, who had moved aside 
to make room for her. Soft cushions supported their 
shoulders. 

Constance leaned on her elbow to answer the question 
of Mr. Ko. The position impressed her as intimate 
when he turned bringing his face close to hers. 

“I wished for you to see first the fabrics of this place, 
very exquisite ancient embroideries. Also I have wished 
that you see the peculiar graceful dancer here, geisha, 
yes, but not geisha dance. It is different. But to you 
who move, speak, use the hands, the eyes, all but the 
brain so fascinatingly slow—this, I think, will to you also 
appeal.” 

Was it the vividness of his imagination, she wondered, 
which caused him thus to forget the usual correctness of 
his speech? She had to turn her back upon Mrs. Lan- 
don, leaning upon her right elbow to talk to him; but 
such was the subtle influence of this muffled place, that 
usually exacting lady had but one thought: that Miss Far¬ 
ley should enjoy her afternoon. 

It was that air of proprietorship which forms a part of 
the superiority of those fellow travellers who have been 
over the ground before. 

When, after due feminine raptures over silks, bro¬ 
cades and embroidered grass cloth, Constance was half 
buried in these treasures, it was Esther who explained: 


154 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


“And you know, my dear, he means that you shall keep 
all these things to remember the day.” 

What spell had come over Esther Landon that she 
should seem pleased to have it so? 

And he, carelessly handling a gorgeous scarf which he 
had thrown about her shoulders, insisted, “It is but a 
slight souvenir of a great occasion.” 

What could she do? Surely nothing to wound his 
feelings. In the next room, separated only by a curtain, 
music like that which she knew so well at Seoul throbbed 
and sang the weird lamentation of the Eastern dance. 
Hidden behind the curtains she knew that an old man 
held firmly immovable in one hand a heavy bow, while 
with the other he revolved against it an instrument half 
fiddle, half banjo, with three strings and a neck four 
feet long. Another beat with his knuckles the drum, 
and a third blew unearthly but unerring notes upon a reed, 
notes that wailed for the spirits departed, notes that 
called to the girl of the East to pose and writhe in the 
symbols of the dance. 

Why was it that the music and the poetry of the East 
was left wholly to the performance of the aged? 

As she pondered this question, gratefully conscious also 
of joy to come in the possession of such princely gifts, 
a girl parted the curtains, gliding before the low divan. 
Accustomed now to the light, Constance could see that 
the dancer was young and beautiful, also that she wore 
so diaphanous a covering as to accentuate her lack of 
clothes. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


155 


A boy came bringing on a tray a pitcher and silver gob¬ 
lets. He was in the way. Constance wished he would 
move that she might see the dancer. 

“Drink this,” Esther urged. “You will love it.” 

The boy filled the goblets with a clear amber fluid. 
Mr. Ko touched his to each of theirs, and nodding each 
to each they drank. 

The air was warm, heavy with incense, motionless save 
for the rhythmic swaying of the dancer. 

“I was so thirsty,” Constance explained as she drained 
the cool, deliciously sweet liquid, and gave back into Mr. 
Ko’s hand the curiously wrought silver goblet. That his 
and Esther’s remained scarcely tasted had escaped her 
in the novelty of her surroundings. 

The dancer was blurred, curiously enough, had no clear 
outline, was merely a swirl of cigarette smoke and star¬ 
ing dark eyes. 

Constance wished that she would stop, that that awful 
music would cease even for a minute. 

Mr. Ko lighted a cigarette for her. She thanked him, 
a little too effusively she suspected, adding, “You know, 
I didn’t like you at first. You mustn’t be offended but— 
I didn’t trust you. You remember that line about not 
trusting the Danai when they come bearing gifts ? I sup¬ 
pose it was that. We Americans when we see a quid in¬ 
sensibly ask, pro quo?” 

“But,” Mr. Ko added, possessing himself of her hand, 
“now that you better understand the Chinese habit of 
mind you know that here one makes the gifts to his 


156 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


friends only as the Frenchman scatters compliments. 
It means good will, if you understand, desire to please, 
yes, and the putting its expression in a form which lasts 
longer than the mere sound of the voice. Is it not so?” 

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Constance admitted 
“but it is absolutely true.” 

Now how singular, she thought, that such a lovely idea 
should be new to her. And how kind and thoughtful and 
sympathetic her host was! 

How ridiculous she had been to allow the color of his 
skin to prejudice her. If she could only explain this to 
him in a delicate way, not to hurt his feelings. He was 
the most generous person living. The beauty of his 
giving was in the way he did it. You had to accept be¬ 
cause he made it seem that you were the one who con¬ 
ferred the favor—by accepting the gift. It was strange, 
but then—this was China! There you are—things are 
different in China! 

She knew that he was still holding her hand, that she 
was no longer supporting herself on one elbow but was 
floating on a gigantic wave of pillows. All about her 
were fabrics smooth to the touch. A heavy smell was 
in the air. It was everywhere. She tasted it. The dim 
lights floating in it gasped for breath. She closed her 
eyes and heard Esther say, “There, she’s asleep.” 

“But what good is this to me?” Mr. Ko asked. “I do 
not wish her unconscious. It was that she should let me 
open her eyes to the beauty of things Oriental that she 
has given me her promise. And see, I have not opened 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 157 

her eyes. I have closed them! Pah! I have what you 
call slammed the door in my own face!” 

All this Constance heard distinctly, yet without any 
clear understanding that they spoke of her. 

Someone smoothed the hair back from her forehead. 

When a heavy ring on the thumb of the ministering 
hand touched her she knew that it was Ko-Yiang. 

“What if you should return in the car, leaving us here 
until she recovers ?” he asked blandly, as if it were noth¬ 
ing out of the usual. 

“See here, Ko Ko dear,” the woman replied warmly, 
“there are limits. That would never do—not for a min¬ 
ute. It might be quite all right. Pm not saying it 
wouldn’t. But it would not look right. And that’s far 
more important.” 

“Then, what do you suggest? Plainly she must not 
enter the hotel thus, nor would it be wise to take her 
home with us.” 

“No, but why not leave her here, and come back for 
her in the morning, early? Can you trust these people?” 

“Absolutely. They are trustworthy. But, Esther 
dear, would it not be—compatible that you should leave 
me here also—to look out for her ?” 

The last words that Constance heard were: “Not com¬ 
patible, but contemptible.” 

She kept repeating them to herself, over and over again. 
They had no special meaning. 

The place had grown very quiet, oppressively quiet. 
She opened her eyes—and it was dark. 


158 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

The heavy smell still hung in the air. It was very 
warm. She was alone. The sound of subdued voices 
from a great distance reassured her. To be alone, yet to 
know that someone was within calling distance. Her 
right hand—was he still holding it? No, it was free. 
No one was within reach of it. 

She had no idea how long afterwards it was when she 
opened her eyes to see that it was day. The heavy cur¬ 
tains had been drawn aside, revealing a window through 
which the daylight entered. 

A man with the quiet deference of the Chinese servant 
propped her up with pillows, poured a cup of steaming 
hot tea from a quaint China pot and put it to her lips. 
It tasted good; it cleared her brain. She took the pretty 
cup in both her hands and emptied it. 

“Missy little more ?” asked the man. 

She nodded a grateful assent and as he filled the cup 
again Mr. Ko and Esther entered the room. 

The conversation which she had heard between these 
two the evening before was entirely forgotten, also the 
lapse of time. She had closed her eyes, might have 
dozed for a minute or two—but how could you ac¬ 
count for the fact that Esther was wearing a different 
hat? 

“Tell me,” Constance asked, “have I been ill? Did I 
faint?” 

It was Mr. Ko who answered, and he seemed deeply 
moved. “You were not used to our incense, our dim 
lights, our sweet wine and music. Together they have 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


159 

combined to produce the effect exactly opposite to what 
I wished.” 

Plainly Mr. Ko, the generous giver of gifts, was dis¬ 
turbed. 

“Let’s be going,” Esther said rising from her place be¬ 
side her on the divan, just where she had sat when it all 
happened. “This place gives me the creeps.” 

Constance was a little unsteady on her feet. 

Mr. Ko put his arm about her, and she was glad of the 
support. So, through the noiseless corridor again, by 
the heavy, swaying draperies, out through the heavy door 
with its little wicket—and there stood the car just where 
they had left it. 

“It must be evening,” Constance said, shivering, for 
the air felt chilly. She snuggled into a corner, wonder¬ 
ing where were the crowds, for the streets were almost 
deserted. 

In an open corner restaurant a group of laborers were 
eating rice from bowls, shovelling it into their mouths 
with their chop sticks, puffing out their cheeks with it, 
almost choking. 

The seller of ear cleaners had forsaken his corner. 
Only a few shops were open. 

It all seemed very strange. Esther and Mr. Ko were 
quiet as she had never seen them. Perhaps she had made 
a scene and disgraced them. But why should the two 
sit there speechless? Constance hoped she hadn’t spoiled 
their little party, when Mr. Ko had been so kind. It was 
too great an effort to say so. 


160 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

At the Palace Hotel two boys were washing the office 
floor. Not a foreigner was to be seen. The night watch¬ 
man took her up in the lift. She wondered whether she 
had said “Good-by” and thanked them when she got out. 
One of the boys who had been washing the floor went 
up with her, his arms piled with silks, embroideries, the 
things she had been admiring when it happened—what¬ 
ever it was—fainting? She had never fainted before in 
all her life. 

“No dinner for me,” she said to the white creature in 
her looking glass, dissipated looking, with black rings 
under her eyes. 

Ten minutes later she was sound asleep. No one was 
there to see the puzzled look across her brow as she lay, 
but the look was there. 


CHAPTER XVII 


It was daylight when Constance woke, but the room 
seemed less bright than usual. Through the open blinds 
she could see a roof in the legation quarter; that roof 
didn’t look as it had every other morning. 

Her watch had stopped. She reached out to press the 
button for her tea. A great heap of strange and costly 
fabrics lay on a chair. Her own clothes were strewn 
anywhere, everywhere about the floor. 

Disorder! How she hated disorder ! 

“One would think I’d been drunk,” she whispered as 
the boy appeared at her door. 

“You ring, Missy?” he asked. 

“My tea,” she said, unable to conceal her irritation. 
Why should he forget that she had tea and rolls every 
morning? Presently he came bringing them and ex¬ 
plained : “Thought Missy have tea four clock.” 

“Well, so I do,” she answered, “but I don’t see what 
that has to do with it.” 

The boy, not understanding such complicated language, 
smiled to indicate that he would let it go at that, and 
withdrew leaving the tray on the chair by the bed. 

After the first cup her brain began to clear. She re¬ 
membered the visit of yesterday, these lovely fabrics all 
161 


162 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

gifts from kind Mr. Ko. How weak of her to have 
fainted! 

It was later, when she had had her bath, and was dress¬ 
ing that two strange features of that adventure rose up in 
her mind demanding explanation. 

She was absolutely sure that when she recovered and 
found Esther sitting beside her, Esther had on a different 
hat from the one she wore in the car. Furthermore her 
stockings also had changed color. She was sure of it. 

She had an unpleasant association of holding hands with 
the remembrance of Mr. Ko,—the long drooping mus¬ 
taches—and holding hands. Perhaps, probably, those 
long kisses were a dream. Chinese do not kiss. Of 
course, it was a dream. Somehow it was a dream that 
made her shudder. 

“I wish I had thought to get the time from that stupid 
boy,” she said, as, having finished dressing, she threw 
open her windows. The light outside looked strangely 
dim, yet the sky was not cloudy. 

She would go down to the bureau, set her watch, and 
make her plans for the day. 

The first man she met was Jerry. 

“Have you been ill?” he asked, then added a little 
stiffly, “I waited up till half after one. Not that it’s 
any of my business-” 

“Why, we didn’t go from here till long after that. It 
must have been early evening when we came back. , I 
felt ill, and went at once to bed.” 

“Evening?” he repeated. “At midnight I rang up Ko- 



WHERE THE TWAIN MET 163 

Yiang’s house in Bubbling Well Road, and got: ‘Mister 
Ko, he busy now.’ ” 

“What time of day is it now?” Constance asked. He 
took out his watch to be accurate in his reply: “It lacks 
twenty minutes to four.” 

“I’m utterly dazed,” she confessed miserably. “I 
thought it was morning. I have just had my breakfast.” 

“Would it seem unjustifiable curiosity if I should ask 
what happened?” 

“I don’t know,” she admitted weakly. “I must think 
it over.” 

How could he know the rush of thoughts, of things 
half remembered—(were they facts or dreams?—that his 
disclosure had brought in an avalanche upon her! 

“Wait until I can collect my thoughts,” she said, look¬ 
ing from him to gaze at the stone floor, where they might 
have been mislaid. “I cannot tell what is reality, what 
is dream.” 

She raised her eyes to meet his—he had turned his 
back and was walking toward the door. And just when 
he might have helped—if she could only determine what 
had happened, and what was only a dream! 

Esther Landon could help her—Esther, who was so 
self-sacrificing yesterday! 

Esther would have to explain her change of hat—as well 
as heart. 

“I will put on my things and simply appear,” she de¬ 
cided. Her arrival coincided with the close of a very 
frank conversation about yesterday’s escapade, a conver- 


164 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


sation in which Esther had the better of every round, 
and from which Mr. Ko-Yiang beat a headlong retreat 
rather than attempt to face in Esther’s presence the visitor 
whom the boy announced. • 

“It’s the most contemptible thing I ever did in my life,” 
Esther told him. 

“Why be tragic?” he asked, trying to calm her. 
“People make—European people—too much fuss over 
these little matters which are unimportant. Be reason¬ 
able, my dear. The girl is all right. You have been 
good to help me. Do I love you less? I tell you I love 
you more than ever.” 

“You have no business to love me—I mean, to tell me 
of it. I have a husband.” 

Mr. Ko laughed. “Now I know your good nature is 
coming back—when you say funny things—like that.” 

“Please don’t!” she insisted. “There’s something—you 
wouldn’t understand—something so sordid about it when 
you call it by name and admit that it’s there. You could 
never understand it, but there’s all the difference in the 
wide world between getting down to nature and talking 
about it.” 

“But our American friend. Surely now, she-” 

“I will not hear a word about her,” she cried pas¬ 
sionately. “And what is more—I will never again lend 
myself to any such scheme as that.” 

He was looking intently into her rebellious eyes. His 
strong fingers possessed themselves of both her hands 



WHERE THE TWAIN MET 165 

as they lay in her lap. He raised them to his face and 
held them against his lips. 

“Esther,” he said solemnly. “You are good friend to 
me. I am good friend to you. A Sunbeam car I have 
ordered for you. In the shop of Honan Fee, the silver¬ 
smiths, I have chosen for you a necklace of pearls. You 
shall go with me to see if it is right in length.” 

His dark eyes held hers. They glowed as she had seen 
them glow before. Not yet was her hold upon him gone. 
He desired her. His eyes pleaded for her. Her faith 
in herself and her star came back. If what she had done 
seemed contemptible, at least it was not vain. 

“I wish to explain about the American-” 

Mr. Ko had got to this point when she was announced 
and Mr. Ko was not in the mood to meet her. 

As Constance entered the beautiful library of Mr. 
Ko-Yiang’s house a ruby bowl on the shelf behind Esther 
Landon caught the sun’s rays and flashed them back in 
reddest fire. No setting could have been chosen better 
to frame her dark beauty. No setting could have been 
chosen more likely to divert the thunderbolt of Constance 
Farley’s wrath. The beautiful was the best in life; but 
the beautiful demanded harmony, not conflict. One 
couldn’t yield to the beautiful with wrath in one’s heart. 

The opening sentence with which she had planned just 
now to put Esther on the defensive, was forgotten. In¬ 
stead she paused to exclaim: 

“What superb color! That red flame.” And because 


166 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


she didn’t accuse her, Esther, who had a child’s heart, 
felt ashamed and softened. After all, she had nothing 
whatsoever against this girl except her attractiveness to 
Ko-Yiang. 

“I am really awfully glad to see you,” she said, rising 
and coming forward. “Naturally you want to know just 
what happened. Well, my dear, I think it was this: 
that sweet wine, combined with the warm, perfumed air, 
upset you.” 

“But you left me there—to come home and change your 
clothes. It was from four or five in the afternoon till 
six this morning.” 

“But I left you in good hands. Mr. Ko said it 
might make talk if we should carry you out of there 
unconscious.” 

“But not if you left me there with him?” 

“You were not left with him. He came home with me. 
Besides, who is there to talk? I am the only white 
person who knows.” 

“Jerry Householder knows.” 

“Well, good old Jerry would think no ill of any 
woman.” 

“I am not so sure of that, and he has been very kind, 
like a brother. Perhaps you would explain it to him.” 

“Do you know what he would do? I know Jerry like 
a book. He’d walk up and down my prostrate body for 
leaving you there. I cannot afford to lose what little 
good will he has for me. Let’s have tea and forget all 
about it.” 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 167 

With the tea came the change of topic. You cannot 
force an acquaintance, or even your best friend, to pur¬ 
sue an unpleasant theme of conversation. And with the 
change and the tea Mr. Ko came sauntering in, elegant 
in another costume, barbaric in its richness and color. 
Languor, the pallor of the ascetic, Constance noted as 
he came to take his seat beside her. Or was this the 
weariness and pallor of the man who dissipates his life, 
and that of others in the pursuit of pleasure? 

He was waiting for her to speak. She was waiting 
for him. Esther looked uneasy as she watched them to 
see which would win. 

When Constance broke the embarrassing silence it was 
to tell her how good the bread and marmalade tasted, 
her first real food for twenty-four hours. 

Then Mr. Ko became solicitous. “I am so sorry for 
your upset. I hope you realize how sorry—how it was 
impossible to do other than as we did. If I can make this 
plain-” 

“Explain it, please, to Mr. Householder/’ 

“Householder!” he exclaimed hotly. “What is House¬ 
holder to do with you and me? Why shall I explain 
anything to that Englishman ?” 

“He is responsible for my coming,” she explained. 
“He is the only one of our party of four who was not 
present. I think he is entitled to hear from you all that 
happened.” 

As she talked Mr. Ko’s eyebrows rose at their outer 
corners farther and farther; his mouth twisted itself into 



168 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


a sneer. His eyes for once lost their sensuality and grew 
cold, black and cruel. 

Something escaped his lips in his native tongue, 
something so ponderous in the way of a curse that if 
the gods obeyed it ten million years of burning fever 
with such a drought as would make the voyage of the 
ancient mariner a drunken orgy—this and more did that 
Chinese malediction pour out upon the soul of Jeremiah 
Householder. 

The storm passed suddenly as it had come. The corners 
of Mr. Ko’s eyebrows descended into their natural posi¬ 
tion. Something of the possessive look came back into 
his eyes, but the sneer remained. 

“If you stop to think,” he said, moving over very near 
so that he could touch her with his knee, “it is not fitting 
for you or me to explain our actions to—anyone.” 

Could she look him in the face and demand to know 
just what had happened during those short hours when 
she lay there unconscious? Would it do her &ny good? 
Was it likely that he would tell her the whole truth? 
No, it was useless to ask. She would never know. Per¬ 
haps it were better she should not know. 

Thus she reasoned with herself, for, after all, was it 
fair to assume that so elegant a man, so polished, so 
conversant with the world, would take advantage of a 
woman’s distress? 

Jerry had been extremely kind and considerate, but he 
was not her brother. If he saw fit to think things—like 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 169 

that—it only showed that Jerry was not so nice as he 
seemed. 

Much of this reasoning Esther, watching her, read in 
her face. And Esther Landon was too decent by nature 
not to sympathize with her, to be sorry for her part in 
taking her there. Poverty, she explained to her Con¬ 
science, had driven her to do it—poverty of life as well 
as of means to enjoy it. She had done what nothing 
but poverty would ever have tempted her to do. Let those 
scoff and call her unnatural and base who never knew 
real temptation. 

A pretty woman, avowedly pretty and admitted to be 
bright,—thrust away into the remotest corner of heathen¬ 
dom to live there day after day in the company of a 
corpse and a little man who was a failure and always 
would be a failure. Your so-called Morals mean little 
in any crisis like the Great War—in Christian lands. 
Here Christian Morals fade from exposure to Oriental 
light. One looks naturally first of all to self-preservation, 
which, in her case, was synonymous with pleasing Mr. 
Ko, gratifying his every whim. 

“I have tried it without Ko,” she concluded, “and I 
know how drab, how dull, how maddening monotony can 
be. I have tried it with Ko. One pays for life, luxury, 
wealth, ease—but it is worth the price. The prigs who 
say it is isn’t are the lucky who have never had to make 
the choice.” 

And even as she thus eased that Conscience by her argu- 


170 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


ment, she was no less sure in her heart of hearts that she 
had done a mean, unworthy thing. It helped a little that 
she did know that no harm had come to the American, 
that she had lent herself to no worse scheme than to see 
what Constance would do voluntarily under certain con¬ 
ditions, such as the relaxing influence of wine. But 
nothing beyond this. 

“You do not hold resentment against me—for this— 
accident?” Mr. Ko asked as Constance was leaving. “It 
would distress me. I had so hoped we might be good 
friends, you and I. I think better than most Europeans 
you understand Eastern mind, Eastern love for Beauty, 
Eastern religious spirit—to find Worship in Nature.” 

Esther was upstairs. There were no jealous ears to 
hear. His voice, always soft, fell to a whisper. “Surely 
a beautiful woman need never be angry with one who 
worships only the beautiful.” 

He took her hand in his to say good-by. She could 
feel his trembling and wondered at the depth of his emo¬ 
tion, which seemed more than half sorrow lest he be 
misunderstood. 

His eyes were narrow slits when he ushered her into 
his car, for he would not allow her to walk back to the 
hotel. Brushing aside the Number One Boy who stood 
ready with the light lap robe he insisted upon adjusting 
that himself. He took unnecessary pains in doing it. 
Number One Boy would have done it in less than half 
the time. 

Constance drove home wondering more than ever. And 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 171 

when she took the few steps from the car to the lift her 
eyes were wide with wonder, with unanswered question¬ 
ing. It was thus that Jerry Householder saw her—and 
turned away without a sign of recognition. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


It was well enough for the Delphic oracle to preach. 
“Know thyself.” Very few of us understand ourselves, 
and Jerry Householder was no exception to the rule. 
After his infatuation for Esther Landon, his despair 
when she flatly refused him, his subsequent discovery 
that he had invested her with qualities that she never 
possessed, Jerry was sure that he was. intended by nature 
for a bachelor. Then came the War. With his usual 
impetuosity he gave heart, soul and body to the cause— 
would gladly have given his life. 

These experiences changed him far more than he knew. 
They left him wiser, more self-contained, outwardly 
calmer, but at heart he was the same impulsive creature 
who had been called the Wild Man. 

His conduct regarding the plot, upon which he had 
stumbled by chance, was proof that the old Jerry was 
not dead, the Jerry who acted while others paused to 
count the cost. Nor did he even suspect that the clever 
Mr. Ko was using him for his own ends, using him now 
in his pursuit of Constance Farley as blandly as at first 
he had planned to make him a foil in the conquest of 
Esther Landon. 

That favor, like ripe fruit, had dropped into Mr. Ko’s 
172 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


173 


lap. Wealth had proved so potent a charm in her case 
that she had either forgotten to fight or deemed nothing 
worth the risk. The result had been that her too easy 
surrender had left Ko-Yiang cold. He was clever enough 
to understand that the love of luxury and not his personal 
charm had won her. He desired her, but she was his 
too easily. 

And then, suddenly, unexpectedly, had come this so 
different woman, slow where the other was quick, deep 
where the other was shallow. He wondered, and couldn’t 
decide, whether she was also blunt, where the other was 
keen. 

But one purpose lay in his mind regarding her: she 
should be his, body and soul—voluntarily yielding to him, 
for he was sufficiently a man of the world to understand 
that the difference between what is taken or bought, and 
mutual surrender, is vast. It is the difference between 
beer and the vintage wine, the difference between jazz 
and Schumann. Many, the majority, prefer beer and 
jazz. It is fortunate that it is so. Ko-Yiang’s taste in 
every direction was that of the connoisseur. He could 
enjoy beer; he preferred a vintage wine. 

Only yesterday Jerry had communed with himself about 
his attitude towards Constance. He was sure, as he re¬ 
viewed the case, that when he left the hospitable roof 
of Sin Chang he thought of that girl only as a sister; 
jolly good company and all that sort of thing, a girl whom 
chance had thrown in his path, a girl of sufficient beauty 
to attract any man, but so matter of fact, so much like 


174 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


a man in her way of looking at things—that you’d never 
think of getting up a flirtation. Falling in love was the 
very last thing a man would think of. She made no 
demands on you, didn’t seem to expect attention or def¬ 
erence. In fact, she was that rare specimen that never 
played her sex. That was why he had brought her along. 
She was the best of company because she knew when to 
keep quiet. It was the last thing in the world that he, 
Jerry Householder, would ever do—to fall in love with a 
girl like that, a girl who didn’t court it, didn’t suggest it, 
or in any way encourage it. 

Before he had finished his analysis he had decided that 
it had all begun from these very things—his admiration 
for her qualities. Then, as they had become comrades he 
had discovered a liking for her. Not only could she 
efface herself, but he found himself gradually more and 
more pleased with her company. 

All this he could see clearly enough as he reviewed their 
short, unusual acquaintance. There was nothing like love 
in it, nothing that might not have been the same had she 
been a man and Fate had brought them together. 

It was Ko-Yiang, that embodiment of Power, of 
Wealth, of Dominion, who had brought this sudden 
change of heart, who had revealed to him the unexpected 
depth of his own feelings. Was it possible that every 
woman had her price? Was it possible for a man of such 
vast resources, not only money but a rare education, an 
expert’s knowledge of the treasures which filled his house, 
a fluent command of half a dozen languages, and per- 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


175 

haps most important of all, an uncommon knowledge of 
human nature—was it possible for such a man to possess 
himself of any woman who was not so fortunately placed 
as to be above temptation? 

While he was still asking himself these questions, while 
he was still wondering at the miracle which had befallen 
him, while he was speculating whether he had the slightest 
chance to win her in the face of Mr. Ko’s seductive allure¬ 
ments—apparently the girl had spent the night with Mr. 
Ko at a house in the Chinese quarter. 

This he had learned but five minutes before in a tele¬ 
phone conversation with Esther, whom he had asked point- 
blank : “I know that she was out all night with him. I 
want to know where they were.” 

“Why should you want to know?” she had asked. 
Even if she had refused Jerry, he was a very desirable 
and attractive man—far better than when she had laughed 
at his devotion. She wasn’t at all sure, as she stood 
there at the other end of the line, that she wasn’t a little 
sorry. Jerry was quite a dear, and as transparent as a 
child. Why should he be getting worked up over this 
American? Therefore she fenced, “Are you worried 
about her?” 

“As a matter of fact, I am.” 

When to his concise answer he seemed disposed to add 
nothing by way of explanation, she asked again: 

“Worried ? Why should you be ? Do you suspect her 
of—of anything so crude, so deliberate as that?” 

“I don’t suspect anything at all, but-” 



WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


176 

There was a long, awkward pause before he found 
words to go on. A telephone is hardly the proper vehicle 
for confidences. 

“It is certainly a strange performance. I thought it 
required some explanation. She went with you, and came 
back—without you.” 

He waited for her to explain it. Surely it couldn’t 
be difficult for her to put the whole matter right. He 
was beginning to feel very much ashamed of such a coarse 
suspicion as had staggered him, causing him to forget 
what Constance was; not that type of woman—unless she 
were false in every phase. 

The woman whom he had once loved, the woman at the 
other end of the line was not consciously base enough to 
poison his mind against the American. If men would be 
so stupid as to suspect the worst it was their own fault. 
She well knew that nothing serious had happened. Ko- 
Yiang was not a beast. He was doutbless sadly disap¬ 
pointed that the carefully concocted drink had been too 
powerful. 

She herself had known that its pleasant warmth could 
lull to sleep a troublesome conscience while it stimulated 
to eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die. The 
whole thing was a regrettable accident; it wasn’t a tragedy. 
Mr. Ko was a gentleman. He had taken his disap¬ 
pointment like a man. He would bide his time; doubt¬ 
less he would try again. What a silly ass old Jerry was. 
He must have fallen in love with the girl. You could 
catch it in the very inflection of his voice. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 177 

“I don’t want you to do her any injustice,” she said 
aloud at last. “It wouldn’t be fair by her. There isn’t 
the slightest foundation for any such suspicion and you 
should know it without being told. Hello! Hello! Are 
you there?” 

The line was dead. No one was there to hear that be¬ 
lated explanation. Jerry had gone. 

“Silly ass,” she exclaimed again as she hung up the 
instrument. 

“Why will men be so suspicious! If I were in love 
with Ko Ko I think I might be frightfully jealous of that 
dreamy Farley woman. Jerry—think of Jerry, the im¬ 
pulsive, big boy; Jerry, losing his heart to her! Well— 
it’s not my hunt. If he is fool enough to invent things— 
it’s his own fault, not mine.” 

Without stopping to consider whether it were just or 
unjust, Jerry’s first thought was to break away from an 
intolerable situation. It was plain to him that his serv¬ 
ices were no longer needed by Constance Farley, that 
he was now an outsider, that he couldn’t keep on offer¬ 
ing advice or assistance which was unwelcome. 

He had thus far utterly neglected, in fact had forgotten 
the score of old friends who were living in Shanghai. 
He could not in honor go back to Yokohama while Ko- 
Yiang, who had been so keen in helping to thwart that 
plot, had need of him. Doubt, however, as to the plot 
itself had grown stronger in his mind as he looked back 
upon it. It could hardly have been a serious matter as 
he had at first believed; yet Ko-Yiang had even yesterday 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


178 

hinted that he wasn’t through with it. Which was quite 
true as Mr. Ko meant to use it. The way to forget one 
episode is to jump into another. “I have it,” he mused, 
as he hurried along out Nanking Road. ‘Til get my eve¬ 
ning clothes and show up at the dance tonight in the 
Astor House ball room. They’ll all be there, and we’ll 
make a fresh start.” 

At Fokien Road, where the cross traffic is always 
heavy, he had to wait while the motley, ragged throng 
of ricksha boys trotted by tilting their long shafts high 
before them so that the weight of the carriage pressed 
upward on their hands, as their sandal-shod feet flew 
lightly over the metal road. 

Loads of merchandise on two wheeled trucks came rum¬ 
bling by drawn by ropes over the shoulders of coolies, 
all ragged in patched tatters of blue cotton, all anxiously 
watching the tall policeman wielding his long baton striped 
with black and white. 

Borne on the shoulders of four men came a costly litter 
of lacquered wood. Inside a fat elderly Chinese sat 
blinking through silk curtains. The men uttered a stac¬ 
cato Hi-Ha, Hi-Ha as they swung by, their shoulders 
straining under the bamboo poles. 

Motor cars in line waited the signal to move along 
Nanking Road. Tram cars in pairs, green and white, 
first and third class, packed with men and women, waited 
on their narrow gauge tracks beside the motor cars. 
Dozens of rickshas next the gutter waited also their turn 
to go on. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


179 

A big closed car of English make, lilac in color, shining 
with polished silver, blared with insolent, protesting horn. 
The tall Sikh waved his black and white wand. Traffic 
along Fokien Road was so suddenly halted that one ricksha 
boy, half over the crossing, incurred the stern officer’s 
displeasure and was promptly knocked down. 

A wave to the lilac car, and Nanking Road was alive 
again, the chariot of Wealth in the van, even the rickshas 
close to the curb dashing on with scarce room enough to 
move. 

As the lilac car went by him, Jerry saw in it a Chinese, 
gorgeously dressed, alone. It was Ko-Yiang, and he went 
in the direction of the Palace Hotel where Constance was. 

Jerry thought that he watched the car unmoved, with 
a shrug of the shoulders, for he had carefully dismissed 
Constance and all that pertained to her forever from his 
mind. 

As he walked out as far as the Country Club he was 
arguing, with himself for and against Constance Farley. 
Angry at his own abstraction which had caused him to 
go so far out of his way, he turned back at a brisk pace, 
but after a dozen steps his thoughts had flown back 
to the same distressing question. 

Half an hour later he came from the tailor shop of 
Ya Chong, facing the Race Track. Some men were out 
with new ponies trying them out for the races. One 
was having an awful time with a fighting gray that had 
made up its mind never to submit to a rider. Here was 
something to divert the current of his thoughts. He 


180 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

strolled across the road, through the gate and encountered 
the fighting gray ridden by an old friend of college days. 
“Tad Harkness, you old dog, come off that pony and give 
me a chance at him.” 

“My word! Jerry Householder!” and the other was 
off in a twinkling, holding the pony by the reins thrown 
over his arm. “And what are you doing here, Jerry? 
That is—are you staying long? I haven’t seen you at the 
club. Now, see here, you will dine with us tonight. 
You’re not married, are you, and all that sort of thing?” 

To all of which Jerry had responded only by shakes of 
the head. Something of his old laughter and gay spirit 
seemed to come with this old friend. Once more he was 
the irresponsible, irrepressible Jerry of college days. 

“Never mind clothes,” he insisted. “Let me have a go 
at this sweet tempered beast, will you? I need a bit 
of a tussle. I’ve been getting soft as an old woman.” 

If he needed a tussle the gray pony did his best to 
furnish one. Men came out from the lockers to see the 
fun, for without whip or spur or curb, using only the 
snaffle, Jerry bestrode that horse as if he had been a part 
of him not to be shaken off or intimidated by rearing or 
plunging. In the end the man’s patience won; the beast, 
neither broken in spirit by cruelty, nor suffering bodily 
pain, had yielded to his superior, and knew it. 

For Jerry nothing could have better restored his equi¬ 
librium. He was glad to accept his friend’s invitation 
to dine and go on to the Astor House dance. Now he 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 181 

would get back into the life to which he was accustomed, 
among the friends whom he understood. 

That night he drank, flirted and danced until two in 
the morning. His was the zest of the novice again, the 
tireless energy of the debutante, the enthusiasm of the 
neophyte. He had all but offered himself to a charming 
blonde girl whom he had never met before, simply on 
the strength of having known her brother who was killed 
in the war. That or the strength of the whiskey and 
sodas taken without stint, like all the rest of it. 

In the handsome hotel lobby the bar boy in black and 
red pushed to and fro the wagon well stocked with bottles 
and with racks from which depended glasses, polished, 
gleaming glasses inviting to be filled. Women, English, 
French, American, danced, laughed and drank, smoked 
cigarettes, and led men on to see how far they could be 
led; to check them suddenly as Jerry had checked the 
gray that they might feel the bit. 

It was morning, but what is dawn to those who have 
dined early at eight-thirty and begun to dance and play 
the game of life at eleven! 

It was morning. The gay foreign butterflies, wearied 
with pleasure, were going to their homes. Outside, 
ricksha boys waited for such as had no motor cars; they 
waited patiently through the long hours hoping to add a 
few cents to the seventy-five which are their average daily 
earnings. 

The Bund was quiet save for the unsteady voices of 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


182 

a few men coming back from the French quarter and a 
night begun at the new Maxim’s Cafe. 

On the water front the moonlight danced as gaily on 
muddy wavelets as if they had been crystal pure. 

A sampan nosed along the jetties cautiously seeking a 
chance to land its belated cargo, so cautiously that one 
suspected opium or other contraband. The big ships 
anchored off in the stream lay in parallel lines, anchored 
to buoys and swept to the limit of their chains by the 
current. The faint music of four bells was wafted ashore, 
repeated from ship to ship. It was morning and on one 
ship the blue peter was being hoisted at the foremast. A 
cloud of black smoke poured from her funnel and hung 
above her like a giant bat with outspread wings. 

Jerry sauntering back to his hotel saw all this, un¬ 
moved, until a sudden impulse came to him to get back to 
Japan, to shake the dust of Ko-Yiang’s Shanghai from 
his feet, to forget the past few months and live once 
more among his own kind. A little sleep and then he 
too would hoist his blue peter to show that the day had 
come for him to up anchor and sail away—from shallow 
water out into the deep. 


CHAPTER XIX 


With a new day came new thoughts. From his win¬ 
dow Jerry could see the barefoot ricksha boys dodging 
in and out of the traffic, miraculously escaping collisions. 
The usual number of business men stood, or sat as if on 
the point of standing, in the low one-horse carriages on 
the Bund, always stepping out while the carriage was 
in motion, always dashing frantically up the steps of bank 
or office as one just in time with a reprieve. 

Already he was less certain of the wisdom of immediate 
departure. It was too late for regular breakfast. The 
room boy brought tea and toast. One must think it over, 
not decide too hastily. 

It had been their invariable custom to breakfast to¬ 
gether. He couldn’t prevent speculating as to whether 
she had missed his company. It was now two hours past 
their usual time. 

From the nearest jetty a little party of half a dozen 
were departing in a trim launch to go aboard that palatial 
houseboat out there on the Whang-poo. Flowers and de¬ 
lectable baskets were their chief impedimenta. The man 
was Chinese. It was unusual to see European women 
with Chinese gentlemen. Mr. Ko was the one conspicu¬ 
ous exception, Mr. Ko who had lived so much abroad that 

183 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


184 

he seemed European. However, unlike so many Orientals, 
he never adopted European dress. He was too much an 
artist to make that mistake. 

So Jerry ruminated watching the party bobbing merrily 
in the launch on its way to the houseboat. The day was 
so hot one might well plan to get out of town. 

So much Jerry saw. He could not see that with rare 
tact and thoughtfulness Ko-Yiang had invited three 
Americans to meet Constance, that he had chosen three 
who possessed charm, people such as Constance would 
enjoy. There was a single man about his own age, a 
married couple younger. With the vivacious Mrs. Lan- 
don to keep it going, Mr. Ko had set great store by this 
two days’ excursion. It would surely do much to dispel 
any suspicions of his last party. He would try every 
arrow in his quiver before he gave up the attempt to win 
Constance Farley for his collection. 

With the nicest care imaginable everything was done to 
bring her into prominence, yet done so skilfully that no 
one would suspect it had been planned. Esther Landon, 
clever as she was, had no suspicion. 

As they sat comfortably watching the river life, a con¬ 
stantly changing picture of struggle for existence, Con¬ 
stance pointed out a woman who with a child strapped 
on her back had been tending sail on a sampan, at the 
same time working a long oar over the side by walking a 
step or two forward, a step or two back, meanwhile push¬ 
ing and pulling as her bare feet trod the slippery deck. 
As they watched her, contrasting in their minds their 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 185 

lot with hers, a cabbage came floating on the muddy tide. 
The woman saw it, strained frantically at the heavy oar 
to swing the boat nearer, then, about to miss it, leaned 
perilously over the side, calling shrilly to her man up 
forward mending a net to come to her help. 

Constance saw the man with a grin exposing long teeth 
encourage the woman to greater effort. One bare foot 
flew up and caught the mast. The woman lay half out 
of the boat. The bundle on her back never stirred. With 
a shout of joy her brown fingers caught the treasure, 
drew it in. The man reached forward to take it from 
her. Being poor he had but one wife. She might be al¬ 
lowed to share the cabbage with him at noon, boiled in 
rain water. It would give new flavor and relish to the 
rice. 

“What is life?” Constance exclaimed to one of her 
fellow countrymen. “Is that life—or is this?” 

And he, being the elderly bachelor, answered, “Some 
fell on stony ground, some fell by the wayside-” 

“Yes,” she agreed, “chance is the sower. But it seems 
horribly unfair. That’s why socialists are always trying 
to invent a scheme to even things up.” 

“And they fail,” Esther put in, “because you can’t 
grow roses from turnip seed.” 

Mr. Ko smiled indulgently, but the dark eyes narrowed 
perceptibly, and the long yellow hands extended them¬ 
selves like the hands of a preacher who invokes the divine 
blessing on what contribution is about to fall into the 
plate. 



WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


186 

“One may help—-benefit—even the turnip seed some¬ 
times,” he said as one who recites an epigram. 

“This is not allegory—concrete example. If I can 
reach Korean common people through your friend Sin 
Chang I stop at once the feud which already springs up 
from that plot which Mr. Householder has discovered. 
Plot itself is no more, but reprisals, yes, and bitterness 
which will mean killing many—both sides—before it shall 
be finished.” 

“And you think Sin Chang could help?” Constance 
asked now much interested. 

“Help very much if—if he believe Japanese can be 
trusted, or his own people. You—” he added slowly 
looking straight into her eyes—“you could do this—this 
work for the people, the common people of Japan, of 
Korea, and so of my own—China, all the turnip seed.” 

“Do you mean you’d like to have me go to him?” 

“First, dear lady, I would have you satisfy yourself 
what are the facts. Then go back with me to explain 
the truth to that Korean giant who has many friends at 
Taiden and to the north at Seoul.” 

“But would such a man have influence outside his imme¬ 
diate neighborhood?” Constance asked, her brow wrink¬ 
ling with the puzzled look that Mr. Ko loved to see. 

“By himself, no,” he answered. “As agent for one who 
would spend much money to foster better feelings, yes!” 

“Why are you so interested in Korea?” Esther Landon 
asked. “I cannot see why people who aren’t forced to 
do it ever get mixed up in politics—even at home.” 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 187 

“One has interests, you see,” he explained. “To pro¬ 
tect our interests it is wise that we prevent the little plots. 
Japanese make a plot against Korea. Very well. 
Koreans make plots against Japan. It is the same with 
my country. All these plots interfere with government, 
with development of natural resources, with progress. 
If you will excuse frankness, the worst danger, the 
greatest evil today in Eastern countries is Western civi¬ 
lization. It comes faster than the people can digest it. 
It makes unrest, discontent. Even coolie class get Western 
money fever. They hear other countries poor people may 
rise to another class. Here in my country the coolies live 
and die coolies. Now they hear different story. Those 
who went over to the war to dig trenches have brought 
new ideas. They turn bandits, rob and kill to get money. 
Everything brings corrupt politics. No stability any¬ 
where and Christian missionaries make it worse always. 
Too much talk of equality—excuse this outburst,” he 
ended suddenly. “I feel too strongly, I fear for my poor 
country.” 

“But you spoke also of Japan,” said one of the 
Americans. 

“Yes, of Japan, for it is also true of all Eastern civili¬ 
zation. Europe and America have brought us their 
science, their religion, their culture. They have sown 
the wind. Some day comes—the whirlwind.” 

“And your present object is-?” 

“To prevent Eastern nations that they distrust each 
other. To cultivate friendships—to get away from 



188 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


thoughts, always of war, of conquest. History of all 
countries has shown me War is the great curse. It ruins 
countries, it makes no man wiser. No man’s home, 
family, property is ever secure. You see,” he added, 
smiling that inscrutable smile not wholly friendly, “I am 
not an altogether disinterested patriot. I wish to live in 
peace. I give willingly for this safety. Are not all men 
so? One is for war—why? That he may get. Another 
is for peace that he may keep what he now has. Well— 
I am for peace.” 

“If this yacht is peace,” Esther said, “I think we are 
all for peace.” 

“Hah,” exclaimed the host, “I almost forget—just in 
time you remind me. Each lady shall dress for tiffin in 
Chinese dress which you find in your cabin, please.” 

He clapped his hands twice. A boy appeared, silently 
but instantly. To the master’s question came favorable 
reply, for Mr. Ko in the best of humor announced: “Yes, 
please, everything is ready in the cabins.” 

Constance found spread out on her bed a silk costume 
in two shades of blue brocade with trousers of plum color. 

' A panel in the front of the tunic was exquisitely em¬ 
broidered in black and gold. There were pale blue socks 
and black and gold slippers. Beside the costume in a silk 
case reposed a necklace of green jade. 

With a child’s enthusiasm for dressing up she entered 
into the spirit of it as she saw herself finally, even to the 
showy ornaments for the hair, transformed into a Chinese 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 189 

lady, that rarest phenomenon, a Chinese lady with the 
blue eyes of an Irish girl! 

On her way to the deck she kept one hand on the string 
of jade beads. She had seen enough of jade to know 
their value. 

The artist in Mr. Ko was evident from the skill with 
which each costume harmonized with the wearer. Only 
Esther in red and white and gold took in the jade neck¬ 
lace and its significance, for Esther alone understood Mr. 
Ko. And understanding she was too wise to show jeal¬ 
ousy of a rival, and thereby make herself a less agreeable 
guest. 

“Borrowed finery is not to be despised,” she chirped. 
“Do you know, Ko Ko,”—this was her pet name for him 
and so audacious that he liked it—“when I was dressing 
I had a brilliant inspiration as to the origin of the hired 
dress suit.” 

Mr. Ko had never heard of the hired dress suit, and 
had to have it explained. But he helped by asking, “Is 
it then a very old custom?” 

“It goes back to the Bible,” Esther declared solemnly, 
“to the Old Testament, at that, where you can read in 
many places the saying, ‘and he rent his clothes.’ ” 

Once more Mr. Ko asked to have it explained, but the 
arrival of the boy to announce tiffin saved her that em¬ 
barrassment. More than once Mr. Ko had expounded 
to her that humor was for children and fools. 

“What is the soul of a feast? Miss Farley I am very 


190 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


sure can tell us,” Mr. Ko asked the question as they took 
their places at table, and gave the others no opportunity 
to answer. 

“I suppose it is a riddle,” Constance said, turning to 
her host, who had given her the seat of honor. “But 
I am going to spoil it by literalness. The soul is con¬ 
versation. Without it a feast is dead.” 

“Ah,” Mr. Ko assented. “There is ancient saying, 
‘Wine is the soul of the feast.’ Maybe this is because 
wine stimulates the conversation. Let us try this to 
make a test.” 

Constance’s first thought was of the last time when 
she drank with him and Esther Landon. This time she 
did not drain the glass, but watchful of herself and the 
others noted how soon the inhibition of self-consciousness 
showed itself in easier, merrier companionship. The 
married American was flirting desperately with Mrs. Lan¬ 
don until his wife upset things by asking across the table, 
“And where is Mr. Landon? I’ve heard so much about 
him.” 

“So much?” Esther repeated. “Why, there isn’t that 
much to hear. He’s up towards Kiu Kiang fussing over 
a worthless mine.” 

“I wouldn’t be a man for a million,” said the American 
woman enigmatically. 

Esther nodded, and muttered: “That’s a tidy sum. I 
think I’d try it for that.” 

“There are men and men,” said the husband. 

“Not in Shanghai,” Esther corrected, “There are men 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 191 

and women—altogether too many women, too few men. 
In an ideal place there are ten men to one woman/’ 

The American woman hereupon adjusted her eyeglasses 
for a better look at this phenomenon. ‘‘What says Miss 
Farley to such a proportion?” asked the bachelor. 

“When I lived in Seoul,” she answered, so slowly that 
her questioner who was a lawyer repeated, to hurry her 
along: “Yes—yes—when you were in Seoul.”—“We 
had a poet there, a young man with Divine Fire and a 
retreating chin, who wrote a poem on Comradeship. I 
read the first sixty stanzas. In the sixtieth he hadn’t got 
so far as to tell what it was.” 

“What had he told?” Esther asked. 

“Thus far only what it wasn’t-” 

“Huh!” exclaimed the host, “a great poet of my 
country asked to write on piece of paper what is test of 
truest friendship—handed back the paper saying: ‘This’ 
and pointed to the blank page. Not battle, not excite¬ 
ment—plain monotony.” 

“There is deep philosophy in that,” Constance said. 

“I am glad you understand,” Mr. Ko said filling his own 
glass and hers from the decanter. 

“I love best to travel with one who can appreciate long 
silences. You see the same thing, the blue grandeur of 
deep ocean, the solemn, awful majesty of mountains. 
You do not spoil it all by babbling: ‘Do you see this 
which I am seeing?’ True companionship sees, and, like 
the mountains and the moon, it is silent.” 

“He describes an ideal travelling companion,” thought 


192 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


Constance. Which was exactly what he meant for her 
to think. Now he let the conversation drift, rather than 
steered it, to discuss Conventions—the unwritten laws 
by which other people tie our hands, laws to which we 
submit because we are afraid. 

Constance again was moved to tell of the old days in 
Seoul. “We had a censor there, a Methodist woman, 
with a face like an angry rabbit, who knew just what was 
right and what was wrong. She had a rabbit’s brain.” 

“Had she a very large family?” asked the bachelor, 
whereupon Esther Landon laughed aloud, then expostu¬ 
lated, “Methodists never stand on all four legs.” 

“Don’t you mean metaphors?” asked the woman with 
the eyeglasses. 

“The average woman, especially, misses half of life for 
fear of Mrs. Grundy,” said Mr. Ko, not to be diverted 
from the topic. 

“Well, the half she gets can be very pleasant,” Esther 
added. 

Ko-Yiang watched the woman at his right. It was her 
comment for which he waited. Seeing this she vouch¬ 
safed, “I am so unconventional it were best that I should 
express no opinion for fear of shocking some one.” It 
struck Mr. Ko that no other human being had so fasci¬ 
nating a way of holding a cigarette. How much of his 
admiration was it safe to let her know? She was different 
from other women; doubtless she loved admiration—who 
doesn’t? But this woman’s very naturalness was dis¬ 
arming. Every time he looked into those big blue eyes 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


193 

he lost himself in their depths. -It was easy for these 
his guests to laugh and jest. They had come for that. 
But for him this house boat party would decide whether 
his plan would work, whether by playing the girl’s sympa¬ 
thies he could use her Korean admirer, Sin Chang, to get 
her away from other people, especially from that eccentric 
Englishman. He felt sure that back in the mountains, 
working, as she would believe, to help the Koreans to a 
better understanding—well, from then on, his plan was 
carefully laid. 

That she had great emotional possibilities he had no 
doubt. Experience teaches; in experience he held a doc¬ 
tor’s degree. 

So let his guests laugh. It was serious business for 
him. He must make no mistake. 

It was stupid of him, but every time he looked at her 
his heart thumped and pounded in his ears. He told 
himself that only the novice lost his breath and saw black 
specks floating. It was now many years ago that he had 
had any such boyish symptoms. He longed to tell her 
of it. His lips undirected framed the words: 

“Something, I find, intoxicates me, me the man Shanghai 
calls cold, immovable, unemotional.” It was scarce above 
his breath, but she caught it. “You! I thought you 
were case hardened. You will not be as silly as I was— 
and faint?” 

She leaned forward to see his eyes more clearly, inter¬ 
ested at once and sympathetic. But her interest was that 
of the trained nurse. He thanked his gods that his lan- 


194 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


guage had been so vague. One must try again, more 
subtly. Perhaps the strange creature had never yet been 
deeply stirred. None in all his list of adventures had 
been so puzzling. Was there not an ancient saying of 
the Chinese, “The fish that rises to no bait must be taken 
with the net!” 

“Ladies,” he said as they rose from the table, “you will 
please each one accept the costume as little gift to remem¬ 
ber this party.” 

Esther saw Constance’s hand instinctively move to the 
costly necklace of jade. The watchful host saw it also 
and coming close to her side said, “It is but a part of the 
costume, please!” 

“But this is so valuable,” she protested. 

“My regret is that I have not something better, more 
worthy to offer one whose heart goes out so warm to my 
poor country.” 


CHAPTER XX 


Opportunity knocks oftener than once at the door of 
those favored mortals who travel as guests on a house 
boat. A less cunning man would have welcomed the 
opportunities to be alone with the desired Constance, to 
allow contiguity to work its spell, finally to take advantage 
of the three principles of first aid to one who has felt 
the sting of Cupid’s dart: wine, seclusion, darkness. 

On the one occasion when they were thus left to them¬ 
selves, the other four having gone inside for a game of 
bridge, Mr. Ko came and took a seat beside her on the 
broad yellow and black couch where she was comfortably 
propped with pillows. A little stand beside them held a 
tray with glasses, whiskey and soda, a decanter of old 
Madeira. 

A dragon screen stood between them and the door of 
the saloon. The only light save the glow of their ciga¬ 
rettes and the faint twinkling of stars dimly seen from 
under the awning, was the one swinging deck lamp, the 
very lamp that Esther Landon had seen one night and 
never would forget. 

Tonight even the one lamp was dimmed by a yellow 
shade. The voices of the card players came indistinctly 
after each hand when the woman with the eyeglasses 
could be heard explaining how no one could have played 
i95 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


196 

that particular hand better than she had, but luck had 
absolutely forsaken her ever since their next door neigh¬ 
bor had brought home a black cat. 

Then came the knock of a pack on edge being 
straightened out by hitting the table—the swish of cards 
shuffled by snapping alternately in the two hands. Then 
silence, the business of play, serious business the husband 
of the eyeglasses thought, for his clever wife invariably 
lost. 

What an opportunity in all this luxury, quiet comfort, 
listening now to the murmur of the river, the gentle 
heartbeat of the engine—what a rare opportunity to speak 
of love! 

Had Mr. Ko-Yiang been a lover he must have given 
some expression to the pain in his heart. He must have 
risked it all that night, pleaded with this adorable woman, 
laid before her the advantages of possessing these lux¬ 
uries, a man’s devotion and wealth. He must have staked 
all on these surroundings and a night such as this. 

Mr. Ko-Yiang was a collector. In his crown were 
gathered already many rare jewels, records of other 
quests and conquests. Nothing in all the world was so 
desirable just then as this inscrutable woman. His de¬ 
sire for her was greater than any other wish or thought in 
life. 

But Mr. Ko-Yiang, winner of many a battle, many a 
race, many a game, knew in his heart that his zeal for col¬ 
lecting would outlive every other passion, knew that this 
star, once it were placed in his diadem, would not be the 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


197 

last, nor would his trained eye cease to look for perfection. 

“How calm it is,” he muttered, “so peaceful to sit with 
a friend, and understand the silence.” 

She made no reply. The thought had come to her: 
what would she give to control such wealth? What was 
the value of Luxury. Was it worth what she suspected 
it had cost Esther Landon? Was anything enough to 
pay a woman who didn't love? 

Constance Farley hadn’t the restricted outlook of a 
small town housewife. What God hath joined together 
meant to her what it means to men and women whose 
horizon lies far beyond the post office and village store. 
It means the convention known as marriage, openly 
flaunted by the theatrical profession, ignored when in¬ 
convenient by the best society, but something to which 
the rest must answer and give implicit obedience under 
sanction of clergy. 

“Well,” her thought ran, “it’s a salutary convention. 
I know of no better substitute.” 

The man beside her lay back enjoying his smoke, too 
sensitive, too understanding, this unfathomable Oriental, 
to intrude upon her thoughts. How seldom one found 
such delicacy among one’s own countrymen. And once 
she had almost suspected him, had been quite rude to 
Esther who had left her alone with him! 

An hour passed. With a stab of self-reproach she 
broke the silence: “You are so indulgent, so consider¬ 
ate a host that I have forgotten the duty of a guest. I 
am sorry.” 


198 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


“Sorry?” he said. “Surely not sorry if we are found 
congenial. So great is the compliment to me if I am 
found congenial in the most beautiful eyes that ever 
opened to look upon my country’s offerings.” 

From some one else she was sure this would sound like 
claptrap. Coming so calmly from the lips of this Oriental 
she tingled with a strange sense of joy. He had not 
praised her. His flattering opinion had unconsciously 
come out in words. 

“I wonder,” he asked, “if in that silence you have 
given consideration to my request—for my country and 
for your Korea. Is it too much sacrifice that I ask ?” 

“You have asked very little,” she answered simply. 
“You have asked a disregard of conventions from one 
who never cared a straw for convention. I will go back 
with you to Sin Chang whenever you like. You under¬ 
stand that I have enough money to pay my own way,— 
enough, if I am careful, to last me for three or four 
years. Before that time is up I shall go back home and 
earn my living as I have always done. So please under¬ 
stand I am to pay my own way.” 

Silence again. He was thinking. Presently he spoke: 
“I can see how it is that you feel. You know my will¬ 
ingness, my desire to pay. I have so much money. It 
means nothing, nothing to me. If you feel more happy 
to spend your own money—it is for you to say.” 

“Thank you,” she answered, “how understanding you 
are!” 

She dropped her hand beside her. It touched his 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


199 

which felt singularly cold for a summer night. Like a 
cat his long hand turned over and seized her fingers, yet 
held them so tenderly they were not imprisoned, only de¬ 
tained. She could not see the yellow light shining in 
those narrow eyes. She could not hear the thumping of 
his pulses. Slowly, not to wound so sensitive a man, she 
drew her hand from his. He made no effort to re¬ 
tain it. 

“You are not like any woman I have known,” he said 
solemnly. “You are so much above them as they are 
above the beasts of the field. To know you lifts a man 
above the gross things of the world. He would do great 
things that he might deserve your praise. He would 
crush underneath every evil passion or desire that he 
might be fit for your company. Such a woman has but 
to live, to let men know her, and the world is made a 
better place.” 

He had fallen into the Oriental impersonal manner 
which seems a sort of mysticism. What he had uttered 
seemed therefore a declaration of faith. This praise 
which might so easily be mistaken for a lover’s fantastic 
declaration of his infatuation. 

“You do not know me,” she answered. “I am not in 
the least that exalted character.” 

“You would be the last to recognize it if you were,” he 
argued. 

For just a moment his strong hand covered both of hers 
as they lay in her lap. The convulsive grasp was the 
breaking from restraint; it spoke a language unlike the 


200 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


language of his lips, a terrifying revelation of the soul 
that hungers. Then it was gone. Once more he was the 
calm critic of life, the poet, the dreamer, the interpreter 
of dreams. 

It was then that he quoted “Our best poet has expressed 
us: ‘He that is not both soul and body is either more or 
less than man.’ ” 

“You have nothing to fear, I am quite sure,” was Con¬ 
stance’s comment. 

“And you?” 

“Well,” she confessed, “I am an unknown quantity 
even to myself.” 

“You are a quadratic equation. One must know the 
rule to solve it.” 

“Ah, as a Chinese you believe in rules—for women.” 

“Oh, no, only rules for understanding them. The 
deepest study of mankind is woman.” 

“You are murdering Alexander Pope, but I suppose 
it doesn’t trouble your conscience.” 

“No, because what I have confessed is a greater truth 
than his.” 

“Doubtless you have been quite thorough in your— 
study of the subject?” She rose as she thus ended the 
discussion. It had gone already as far as she was inter¬ 
ested to pursue it. 

“It is because I have made deep study of the subject,” 
he insisted, “that I know its philosophical side. The 
young and ignorant play at living, only the experienced 
and wise—live.” They were crossing the deck, about to 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


201 


enter the saloon where the others were absorbed in their 
game. Mr. Ko stopped and faced her. 

“This thought is in my mind,” he said. “My life is of 
settled plan. I know where and what I shall be in one 
year or in ten. With you it is different. Your life is 
unsettled. Your future is not known-” 

“And that,” she broke in, “is the best thing about it— 
that very uncertainty—I should hate to know.” 

As they rejoined the others Constance was impressed 
with the fact that not even by an insinuating smile did 
any one suggest that there existed a touch of sentiment 
between them. Had the rich, attractive and accomplished 
host been a European, the women would have scanned her 
face for evidence. He was of a different race. One 
assumed that no physical attraction existed. 

“Now, if you had a phonograph,” Esther Landon said, 
“we could dance.” 

“I cannot see myself dancing,” Mr. Ko answered, “nor 
can I enjoy to hear songs from boxes.” 

“I see,” she retorted in the teasing mood which she had 
so often adopted with Peter Landon. “If singers en¬ 
tice thee consent thou not.” 

“That is not correct,” he started to explain, but the boy 
entering with a huge tray of bottles and glasses and a 
bowl of ice put an end to banter which Ko-Yiang could 
never understand, substituting wine which he knew as an 
expert. 


CHAPTER XXI 


“And if you will return tomorrow by Shinyo Maru to 
Yokohama, one in Government confidence will some day 
call at Grand Hotel, Y. Takaishi; you can trust this man.” 

Thus ended the letter from Mr. Ko-Yiang which Jerry 
Householder was reading at breakfast. It had been 
brought by one of Mr. Ko’s boys, and it stated that the 
writer had been suddenly called away. Inquiry at the 
office revealed that Constance was out of town for a few 
days. Then she had been one of the party he had seen 
going aboard Ko-Yiang’s yacht. He was almost glad it 
was so. His conscience would be clear if he left a note 
of farewell, for such it was, explaining why he had gone 
off in such haste. 

The T. K. K. office had him booked before tiffin. He 
had but to drop into the Shanghai Club to say good-by 
to a few friends, write a note or two, and the busi¬ 
ness was done. 

Next day at noon he leaned on the rail of the Shinyo 
as she steamed northeast from Woosung—his thoughts 
travelling back to Shanghai, to its gay life, to the friends 
left behind. 

Esther Landon—how she had degenerated and all be¬ 
cause she would sell her soul for Luxury and Ease. Ko 
was a strange fellow. Education had made him restless, 


202 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


203 

never satisfied. But Ko was a patriot, a rare treasure 
just now in his country. 

He left the rail and went aft to the smoking room, 
where a number of Japanese played with little cards bear¬ 
ing strange images of flowers. It was an interesting 
game to the players, but how you missed the flat headed 
king and the four familiar suits or rather—pursuits, rep¬ 
resented by the four familiar tokens—the four L’s: 
Labor, Law, Love and Luxury. 

Two men were there whom he had known in business. 
Soon he was talking with them in their own language of 
things Japanese. How quickly in the East one’s environ¬ 
ment is revolutionized! The recent life dropped away, 
a discarded garment; the old life came back to claim him. 

On the sixth day he stepped ashore in Yokohama, gay 
and attractive even in late August. 

The usual number of steamers lay anchored in the 
pretty harbor, surrounded by barges and flat boats danc¬ 
ing up and down like the sunlight on the choppy waves. 
The same waiting line of jinrickshas at the pier, the same 
little horse-drawn loads going through the streets pre¬ 
ceded by the driver who seemed to be towing his horse. 
The same clumping, clicking, clattering of wooden clogs 
on the pavement. Men in sober kimonos and men in 
European dress. Women in brighter kimonos, their 
backs grotesque with the broad bright obi. Children in 
brilliant kimonos, gay with many colors; schoolboys in 
blue kimonos dotted with white spots. Babies in the 
kimonos of mothers or sisters to whose backs they were 


204 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


strapped. Color and life everywhere; life and the sounds 
of life, never harsh, never crushing with the weight and 
rush and ruthlessness of our boasted civilization. A gent¬ 
ler, simpler, calmer life that was sweet to hear and to see, 
so Jerry thought. A life which like all Oriental life 
has also its own smell—but that, if one analyses it, tells 
also its own story. 

Japan again, so different from China, yet in some ways 
so like it. Different as London from Vienna; like as 
Brussels to Berlin. 

Jerry Householder was glad to be back in bright, 
cheerful Yokohama. The Grand Hotel hadn’t changed. 
One might believe that group of Englishmen in the lounge 
was identical with the group he left there. The few scat¬ 
tered women eyeing each other furtively over their maga¬ 
zines; that one leaning back to smoke her cigarette with 
graceful abandon knew perfectly well that her legs were 
quite fetching in those pinkish silk stockings. Surely 
she was the one he had noticed so long ago in that precise 
spot. And the two old cronies yonder drinking whiskey- 
Tansan, talking exchange and the high price of Hong 
Kong and Shanghai Bank shares. It was like getting 
home. Then when the boy came to tell him his luggage 
was in his room, how pleasant to speak Japanese once 
more, how satisfying to be inhaled with the characteristic 
national hissing sound which is so the very opposite of 
a hiss. 

He had almost forgotten the charm of this picture book 
country and its gentle citizens. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


205 

From his room he could see the steel bridge over the 
canal, the road winding up the hill on to the Bluff where 
the foreign residents lived. A few of the nearest houses 
could be made out quite plainly. It would be delightful, 
after all his recent disturbing experiences, to get back 
among one’s friends, for he had many friends in that little 
colony on the Bluff. 

A man was a good deal of an ass to mix himself up in 
squabbles as he had done. It proved only that he hadn’t 
outgrown his old stupid impetuosity, the traits that had 
sent him out to the East a young man not stable enough 
for a Britisher in his own land. 

So his thoughts ran as he stretched out in the long 
bamboo chair before his open window. 

What unimportant things, trifles, changed the course of 
our lives! He had thought himself settled in life as a 
business man. He had stumbled upon that little plot, 
and because he had been fascinated to follow it through 
—see how far afield it had led him! Sin Chang and his 
dark-eyed bride, Yisan. He never would have known of 
their existence. And they had led to Constance Farley. 
Here he closed his eyes. For a long time an observer, 
had there been one present, would have thought him 
asleep. 

When he opened his eyes they were not the eyes so re¬ 
cently gazing calmly at the Bluff and the Bund and the 
waters of the bay playfully jumping up to kiss the shore 
or slap the long stretch of breakwater running out to make 
the harbor one of the prettiest and safest in the world. 


206 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

Those eyes had grown hard, almost cruel, when he opened 
them. It was not the thought of Constance that had 
changed them. He had gone on from her to that strange 
man who had so suddenly come into both of their lives 
through his long-forgotten friend, Esther Landon. 

That, too, was all through the same pesky plot. Sud¬ 
denly, as all things came to him, flashed upon his mind the 
suspicion, the belief, that no Mr. Takaishi would call up¬ 
on him; that he had been packed off in haste by the wily 
Mr. Ko to get him out of the way; that Mr. Ko’s interest 
in that confounded Japanese plot was only an interest in 
Mr. Ko’s specialty—women; that Mr. Ko had never done 
and never would do anything except in so far as it fur¬ 
thered his own plans. 

Where did this place Constance? Did it leave her also 
a victim of Ko-Yiang’s cleverness and design, a pawn in 
the game where Nature had obviously intended her for a 
queen ? 

There was no evidence to that effect. Constance Far¬ 
ley was certainly the opposite of impulsive. In her calm, 
deliberate way she played with life as most others did. 
After all, it was with her own life. She didn’t interfere 
in the lives of other people. If he, Jerry Householder, 
had seen fit to entangle himself there it might have been 
the work of Mr. Ko or of Sin Chang, or Esther’s inter¬ 
ference, but he couldn’t honestly lay the charge against 
Constance Farley. 

It all ended, as he lay there at his bedroom window, in 
a definite conclusion: whatever the reason, whoever the 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


207 

cause, he was quite through with Constance forever. He 
sincerely hoped that he was through with Ko-Yiang like¬ 
wise. The man didn’t ring true from the very start. 

A sudden resolution seized him to attempt at this late 
day what he should have done before he fled the country 
with those chaps close on his heels. Had he gone straight 
to Tokyo he might have learned there whether their plot 
was of consequence, or only one of the bubbles that come 
to the surface after much submerged discussion,—come 
to the surface to burst and perish. 

An hour later he was in Tokyo, whither he had gone 
by trolley train. The police officials at first pretended 
not to understand anything about it, but when he men¬ 
tioned dates and even names they relented so far as to 
show him the record of the arrest of the ringleader, the 
fat man, to whom the others had listened with reverence. 

That was enough. He thanked them and started back 
to Yokohama. In the first class car, painted blue and 
marked with a — which is Japanese for “one,” he sat in a 
corner unmindful of the spittoons in a row in the very 
centre of the car, unmindful of the half dozen men who, 
kicking off their clogs, sprawled all over the seats, un¬ 
mindful of the conversation wholly intelligible to him, ex¬ 
pressive of dislike for the foreigners who year by year 
encroached more and more upon their rights, their cus¬ 
toms and sacred traditions. 

Jerry had no room for these things in his mind. He 
had just arrived at a point where he saw things clearly; 
where he saw the rich and powerful Mr. Ko-Yiang not as 


208 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


a romantic figure of the new Chinese Republic, not as the 
cultivated man of the world who because of his wide 
knowledge had also a wide sympathy. 

Mr. Ko’s peculiarities had nothing whatever to do with 
his race. They had to do only with his character, the de¬ 
vices and desires of his own heart, the lusts of the flesh, 
the exercise of vast wealth in gratifying his appetite. 

But why hadn’t he, Jerry Householder who had surely 
knocked about a bit, been bright enough to see that long 
ago? Instead of living his own life after chucking up his 
business, he had been nothing in the world but the tool 
of the accomplished Mr. Ko, that ardent collector who 
even now was adding a new and flawless gem to his col¬ 
lection. 

The morning paper announced in its long list of arrivals 
and sailings that the Nippon Yusen Kaisha were sending 
the Suwa Marti on the afternoon of the 20th via Kobe, 
Nagasaki and Shanghai for London. 

“That means today,” he told himself. “It means— 
here, boy!” as he leaped from the little train on its arrival 
again in Yokohama. “N. Y. K. office and lively—I give 
forty sen more for fast run.” 

“Forty sen more—to boy—on top price?” asked the 
ricksha boy who had known disappointment and grief. 

“That’s right.” 

The younger jinricksha boys can run fast and far when 
they see an object in so doing. They have grown wise. 
This one chosen by Jerry dashed off at great speed. 

Thus it befell that Jerry Householder’s name appeared 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


209 


in the next edition as one arriving from Shanghai and in 
the adjoining column as one departing for Shanghai. 

‘‘Why/’ exclaimed the anxious proprietor of the Grand 
Hotel, “you haven’t even had tiffin. You’re here a couple 
of hours and off you go.” 

Jerry had to explain that it was no fault of the hotel; 
that he had received important news. 

He was the last man to go aboard as the big whistle of 
the Suwa Maru uttered its deep bass farewell to those who 
waited on the pier and waved and bowed as only Japanese 
can bow. 

Out between the red and the white lighthouses, out by 
the big fort and the ship yards, and through the multitude 
of fishing boats, out to where they looked back at Mt. 
Oshima smoking, glowing ominously from its lofty crater. 

Jerry sauntered on the upper deck, for it was warm. 

It was necessary to take account of stock, to ask him¬ 
self as the only one who could by any chance find a 
reasonable answer—why he had come. Up to that mo¬ 
ment he had held no clear purpose or understanding of 
this question. 

Was it not true that a few short hours ago he had def¬ 
initely decided that he was through with Constance Far¬ 
ley, that her affairs no longer concerned him? For what 
other conceivable reason did he now find himself rushing 
back to Shanghai? Was he acting so blindly that he had 
no purpose, no plan? 

The cynical smile of Mr. Ko, the curling lip and con¬ 
temptuous eye of one who despises and sneers, appeared 


210 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


before him to answer such doubts. It had nothing to do 
with Constance Farley. It had to do solely with Ko- 
Yiang. He must let Mr. Ko understand that ‘his cunning 
no longer made a fool of Jerry Householder. It was his 
duty also to have a frank talk with Esther. He had no 
wish to control her, but as a very old friend he ought to 
warn her. 

You might get angry with Esther, you might be dis¬ 
gusted, even, but everyone had to admit that she was at¬ 
tractive to look at, and bright enough to keep the best of 
them on edge—as she generally did. 

Therefore, when the tall, fair Englishman appeared 
for dinner in a cool white suit no one in the saloon sus¬ 
pected the turmoil that was in his heart. To those of the 
passengers who were English it seemed nothing strange 
that a man travelling had no wish to add to his list of 
acquaintances. 

That ancient doctrine of being especially kind to stran¬ 
gers because you may be entertaining angels unawares, 
does not appeal to the British. Jerry was not looking 
for angels as the lovely girl at his table soon discovered. 
He actually seemed not to know that she was there, but 
that was not her fault, for she tried every artifice known 
to science. The tall, fair Englishman was planning 
exactly what he should say to Mr. Ko, what to Esther 
and even what to Constance in case he found it necessary 
to say anything to her. Jerry Householder’s mind was 
preoccupied that night. 


CHAPTER XXII 


When Jerry was coming up on the tender he knew 
that he was going to stay at the Astor House Hotel, the 
particular reason being that there he would avoid Con¬ 
stance Farley. One need not engage; in August there 
would be room enough. 

On the customs jetty the formality was soon over. He 
found a porter with the insignia of Palace Hotel, gave 
him his various pieces, and carrying a small bag in his 
hand crossed the Bund and entered the Palace Hotel, 
where thfc clerk was so surprised to see him that Jerry, 
after inventing a cock and bull story to account for his 
return, hadn’t the courage to ask for his friends. Dinner 
time would be early enough. He would see them then. 

There are circumstances which demand the dramatic 
background. This was one of them. He must control 
himself so as to tell Mr. Ko in Constance’s presence if 
possible, but very calmly, after Mr. Ko’s own style, how 
he had found him out, how he was no longer fool enough 
to be used by him, how that method was not what an Eng¬ 
lishman calls playing the game. By this time he was set¬ 
tled in his room, all his baggage about him. Something 
inside was teasing him, “How about the Astor House 
Hotel?” 

211 


212 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


“Oh, well,” he answered, “that was only a fancy. This 
house is far more conveniently located, and I have always 
liked it here.” 

The long dining room, simple in its decorations, un¬ 
pretentious, was very restful, the Chinese boys were atten¬ 
tive. Something in the very atmosphere of the place was 
homelike, satisfying. 

There was the usual number of Englishmen dining, as 
he was, alone. They would dine alone night after night. 
It was a feature of the house—your privacy was respec¬ 
ted. The usual number of elderly ladies—he thought of 
them as “singletons”—also dined each at her own table. 
He had always assumed that they were the widows of old 
Shanghai merchants—of more importance and far better 
off living there on Mexican dollars than they could hope 
to be at home. 

This was his second whiskey and soda, he realized, and 
he was dawdling along killing time at his simple dinner— 
but no sight of Constance. Dining at the elegant Ko 
mansion, doubtless, out on Bubbling Well Road. How¬ 
ever, it was but little after eight. He smoked in the 
lounge just off the dining room, where some Americans 
were having cordials with their cigarettes. One woman, 
built like a goddess, gowned as nearly after the same 
fashion as she dared to go, talked without end of her golf 
game. It was apparent that her score which was excel¬ 
lent would have been perfect had it not been for the un¬ 
warrantable interference of the wind. She was also 
playing, it must be remembered, on a strange links. One 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


213 

of the men asked, "Is it proper to say ‘A links’? I 
thought links was plural.” 

“Yes, you would,” the same woman answered. 
“Doubtless you would think ‘sex’ is plural also.” 

“No, I’ve always thought it was singular,” he replied. 

Whereupon the other woman, the one with eyeglasses, 
contributed, “Anything to shut Molly off from bragging 
about her game, but, speaking of sex, I think our host of 
last week is the most brazen roue I have ever encountered. 
Any woman is fair game to our millionaire Celestial. If 
Molly could have kept off golf long enough to give him a 
chance, I think she might have owned him.” 

“I, own him?” exclaimed Molly. “With the Irish eyes 
driving him insane every time he looked at them ? I guess 
I’ll stick to golf. It’s a safer game.” 

Jerry put down his coffee cup and listened for more. 
These must be the people who made up the house boat 
party. Why couldn’t they go on in their exceedingly 
frank, American way and tell exactly what were their im¬ 
pressions of Constance and her attitude towards the 
representative of “The Wealth of Ormus and of Ind.” 

“You must confess, my dear,” said the man who had 
spoken before, “that he is a perfect host. I never saw 
such service. It must cost that man over a hundred 
thousand to live.” 

“That’s not as much as the Pendletons spend,” insisted 
the eyeglasses. “Mary said when she visited New York 
last winter that we hadn’t an idea of Wealth even in Kan¬ 
sas City.” 


214 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


"I don’t believe that,” the man, hitherto silent, con¬ 
tributed. “I know people in Tulsa who live way beyond 
the whole Standard Oil outfit.” 

“You remember when I drove so well off that soft tee 
at the tenth hole,” Molly interjected, switching them back 
to her own topic. 

It was in vain that the quiet man behind the potted 
palms puffed his cigar and waited. Not another word 
would they say concerning what he wanted to hear. 

When he left the lounge the goddess called Molly was 
still bragging of her game; the one with the eyeglasses was 
uttering the obvious with all the pride of a discoverer; 
the husband of the eyeglasses was having his bit of quiet 
fun at the expense of the others; and the other man was 
maintaining against any and all that the most learned and 
cultivated of the earth’s population lived in a section in 
the middle of the United States of America—alike far 
distant from the corrupting influences of low prices and 
Oriental civilization on the one coast, and the outworn 
dogmas of Europe on the other. 

Jerry was beginning to ask himself afresh why he had 
so hastily returned. He had no intention of shaking his 
fist in Mr. Ko’s face. Surely nothing so crude as that. 
It would be a bit humiliating to be caught by Constance 
as one who had come back to spy upon her. So he went 
to his own room. 

Next morning at breakfast he pictured her surprise 
when she should walk in and find him there. Would 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


2I 5 

she be pleased? If so he could read it instantly in her 
eyes. Indifference she would cover up, leaving him in 
doubt. But she didn’t come, though he waited long be¬ 
yond her usual hour. 

So he telephoned to Mr. Ko’s house asking for Mrs. 
Landon. Number One Boy who answered the ring said, 
“Missy Langdon. My talkee him topside. My go see.” 
Which eventually brought Esther to the instrument. 

“This is Jerry Householder,” said a voice in her ear. 
“Are you there?” 

“Yes, Jerry. I am here, but where are you?” 

“You see it’s rather mixed,” said the voice. “That 
is, I’ve come back, d’ you see, to settle one or two things 
that—that I didn’t know about when I left. See here, 
Esther, do you mind meeting me for a little talk? Is it 
too early or something?” 

“I’d like very much to see you if you can come out 
here now, right away. You see, Jerry, I’m going back to 
—back home, and I leave in a couple of hours.” 

“Right! I’ll be there directly.” 

Ten minutes later he made good his promise. Esther 
looked tired and, he thought, a trifle afraid, if such an 
emotion as fear was possible in one so constituted. 

“You say you are going home?” he asked. “Nothing 
wrong, I trust. Peter isn’t ill or anything?” 

“Poor Peter!” she replied with more feeling than he 
had known her to exhibit in all these weeks of pleasure 
away from hin. “Peter hasn’t written a word since his 


2l6 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


abrupt appearance and disappearance that day in the gar¬ 
den. If he weren’t the most patient man since Job he 
would never put up with my whims, would he?” 

“No, I don’t believe he would.” 

“Jerry, you haven’t changed a bit,—blunt as ever. 
Don’t you know that common courtesy demands that you 
disagree when a woman says unpleasant things about 
herself?” 

“When does Mr. Ko get home?” he asked, ignoring 
this attempt to force a compliment. 

“He didn’t vouchsafe any information, didn’t even tell 
me where he was going or why—in fact, not being in 
his confidence I didn’t know that she was going with 
him.” 

Esther was sitting on the edge of a beautiful blackwood 
bench. Jerry who stood facing her suddenly felt faint. 
The bench seemed to sway to and fro and Esther with 
it. He put out his hand blindly reaching for something 
to steady him. 

His hand caught a chair. He sat down and waited for 
her to speak again. She seemed not to have noticed that 
anything was wrong. 

Presently he got himself in hand sufficiently to say in 
a slightly strained voice, “Sorry—I wanted to see him— 
in fact, you see, it was business that interests him which 
brought me back. And you say you don’t really know 
where he has gone? Wouldn’t his boy know?” 

“I have asked,” she said, with a little shudder, “and 
no one knows.” 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


217 

After all, when one has pretty nearly burned the 
bridges, going back looks dubious. Even Peter Landon 
had been known to lose his temper. 

Esther was too wise to lose sight of the point that if 
she now went crawling back to Peter unheralded, her 
return could hardly be welcomed by him without reserva¬ 
tions. To be sure she had been as a guest in Mr. Ko’s 
house in need of no chaperone, a married woman whose 
husband was tied down by his business. The latitude 
in places like Shanghai, or let us say the absence of cavil¬ 
ling, is well known. 

But it is not customary for women to go so far afield 
as to visit a Chinese gentleman though he be a cosmopoli¬ 
tan, a scholar and the very emblem of Wealth itself. 
Esther knew this; the knowledge and consciousness of it 
had more than once made her wince. But sometimes a 
pretty and attractive woman would rather wince than for¬ 
ever go without. 

Youth is not enduring; beauty fades too soon. Oppor¬ 
tunity no sooner knocks than it has gone, perhaps never 
to return. 

Esther was keenly aware that shoulders were shrugged, 
eyebrows raised; that other women looked at each other 
with that Did-you-ever ? question unspoken. Esther had 
braved it all for Luxury. How short a time it had lasted! 

‘‘Jerry,” she sighed, for Misery is the loquacious twin 
sister of Joy, “do you think good old Peter will grouse 
about my taking so long a vacation? I believe you could 
explain it all to him so that he’d see the point. A man has 


218 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


his business. A woman simply sits and thinks till it 
gets her. Peter ought to have seen that, but he didn’t.” 

Esther little realized how unimportant her affairs looked 
to Jerry. 

With difficulty he pulled his attention round to her 
question sufficiently to answer her. “Peter—well, you 
see I never knew Peter very well, did I ?” 

He would gladly have gone on to say what was in his 
mind, to the effect that he felt like blessing Peter for 
his inestimable service in marrying and thus removing 
from the market a certain girl with whom—but then, such 
things are never spoken aloud. 

Jerry couldn’t help, however, philosophizing under 
cover of silence, upon our dual powers of conversation, 
for here he was uttering commonplaces about Peter while 
addressing to himself a conversation that would have been 
the height of bad manners to express in words. It is 
fortunate for society that our thoughts cannot be heard. 

“You don’t have to know Peter. He’s that kind. 
That’s the very trait that won me. Don’t you know, 
there are people like that? No long explanations. They 
see right away—what you see. Other people have to have 
it explained.” 

“Quite. There are you. He’ll see this also.” 

“But, don’t you see, Jerry dear, that’s what I fear. I 
don’t wish him to see too much. What I mean—I don’t 
wish him to see-” 

“You don’t wish him to see what isn’t there. After all, 
it comes to about that. Now, doesn’t it?” 



WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


219 

“Precisely. But men are so—so queer/’ she went on 
wandering away to what was in her mind as a grievance. 

“Why shouldn’t they allow us women the same freedom 
to enjoy ourselves which they take without a word? 
They forget that women are human.” 

“I had always thought women in that respect had very 
much less temptation than men,” he countered, “am I 
wrong ?” 

“Women are far more particular than men. That’s the 
only difference.” 

The thought of Ko-Yiang flashed into her mind a red 
hot accusation which showed instantly in the heightened 
color of her face and neck. It even smarted in her eyes. 

If Jerry saw it he traced it to the wrong source, thought 
it bore some reference to her refusal of him, so he 
promptly switched back to Peter: “When are you leav¬ 
ing for home?” 

“This afternoon’s boat. And as I haven’t notified him 
there’ll be no launch there to meet me, so I shall have to 
hire a fisherman to row me up. It will take me about 
three days to get home, but now that I’ve decided to go 
I couldn’t bear to spend another night in this hateful 
house.” 

“Hateful?” he repeated. “This is one of the most 
beautiful houses in all China. I never come here with¬ 
out feeling that it is really a museum. I have never seen 
such a collection of porcelains. Look at that yellow vase 
behind you. It’s worth a fortune. That color and glaze 
are a lost art.” 


220 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


“Jerry, you know very well that what makes the house 
is the people in it. Oh, I’m sick and tired of this life. 
Hollow mockery—that’s what it is. I’m fit for something 
better than this. One day you’re an angel, too beautiful 
for words; the next, some woman comes dawdling along 
with Irish eyes, and you are classed with the kitchenware 
—-a cracked saucer, only a step from there to the ash 
can.” 

Irish eyes! There it was again. So it was jealousy 
of Constance more than pity for Peter which drove her 
homewards. 

“Do you really think that she has—what I mean, that 
it is serious between them? She has lived so long in 
Korea—quite an unconventional girl. I mean—not the 
sort to go in for mixed marriages and all that, you know. 
Seen too much of these foreigners, knows too much about 
life—don’t you think?” 

He was the more embarrassed the more he attempted 
to explain his question. 

A minute ago he was too disgusted to consider Con¬ 
stance’s offense calmly. Now here he was defending her, 
explaining to Esther how it simply couldn’t be as it looked. 

Yet he knew in his heart that she had yielded exactly 
as Esther had yielded, not to man, not to physical attrac¬ 
tion, but to Wealth and the luxury, the comfort, the 
freedom from care and worry, from poverty and igno¬ 
miny, the ease that Wealth can buy. No one says much 
about it in public. It is one of the subjects best left 
untroubled. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


221 


Jerry had always known it, but not such a flagrant case, 
not mixed with race problems. “All I know is that they 
have gone somewhere together/’ Esther explained wearily, 
“and that they took jolly good care to let no one know 
where they went.” 

He got up and said something about having business 
to look after, must hurry along. Might catch the Em¬ 
press boat if he looked sharp. 

She could see that he was ill at ease. What reckless 
thing would he do next? She had hoped to coax him 
into going up the river with her. Peter would be so much 
easier to handle if Jerry were there to help the explana¬ 
tions. She could enlarge so much upon the society of 
her old friend as to minimize the effect of Mr. Ko. 

Now you could see the old wild look in Jerry’s eyes. 
Horses couldn’t drag him away from the particular notion 
that seized him. She knew him too well to try it. 

“Good-by, Jerry dear,” she said, taking his hand. Tears 
were in her eyes, blinding tears that shut out a clear view 
of his face, scalding tears that welled from the sad knowl¬ 
edge that life was unjust to her, bitter tears that reflected 
her return from the round of Pleasure to the treadmill of 
Duty. She was very sorry for herself. 

What a changed Jerry—from the ardent handclasp 
which once used to devour her pretty hand, refusing to 
release it—to this cold pressure—what a change! 

Long afterwards she recalled that look in his eyes. 
Without a word Jerry was gone. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


Jerry was gone. Esther was alone. The sense of 
being alone weighed heavily upon her. 

The house boys, attentive, kind as ever, took charge of 
her belongings—and how those belongings had increased 
in quantity and in quality since she arrived with scant 
equipment! 

Now she was leaving with many boxes containing an 
enviable wardrobe, jewels, gold chains, ornaments, a 
string of jade beads that had seemed fit for a queen until 
she had seen the necklace given Miss Farley. 

Decidedly Esther had gained in her belongings. They 
that work in gold find gold dust in their hair. It sticks 
to their clothing. They too would gain from the mere 
contact with it were it not for the watchfulness of those 
who employ them. Ko-Yiang when he had been her Ko 
Ko was not watchful save that she should have the best. 
So she had gained as it were by attrition all that finery 
which the .boys were carefully carrying away in her boxes. 

“Finery, jewels, gowns, ornaments,” she went over the 
list in her mind. 

“What value have clothes if there is no one to see, to 
admire, to envy them! Would any woman be vain 
enough to dress up if she were alone on a desert island? 
Would Peter even notice if I should adorn myself in all 


222 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


223 

this elegance? Peter would frown and ask why I didn’t 
wear something simple and useful.” 

Nevertheless she took them all. Hadn’t she fairly 
earned them ? 

At that thought she recoiled. Why had she ever put 
it in such crude form ? It seemed that someone else must 
be responsible for so horrid a suggestion. 

The motor car was at the door, his motor car. He 
had never given her the Sunbeam runabout promised as 
a bribe. 

A little launch carried her out to the river steamer 
lying at anchor with a score of others. She gave to each 
of the house boys when they left her a generous fee. 
One may be returning to poverty, but one must vanish 
like a lady. From the deck she could see the bustle, the 
push, the hurry of life along the Bund. 

Someone’s wealth had built since the War those fine 
new business houses. 

Children with their amah were waving to someone put¬ 
ting off from the jetty. 

The old Palace Hotel, a patchwork of red and white, 
stood out by reason of its Victorian elegance, a little out 
of date in its exterior. 

The muddy water whirled under the propeller. Al¬ 
ready Shanghai was receding. What Shanghai meant 
was fading into the past. With a deep sigh Esther turned 
away. She was young. Was it any wonder that she 
loved life, that she shuddered at the thought of being 
buried alive! 


224 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


In the quiet of her cabin she sat on the edge of her 
bunk to think it all over. First she must get herself into 
the right frame of mind to meet Peter. A suspicion had 
by now grown to certainty that she was the one to blame 
this time. She must therefore keep her temper under 
control, and—if she hadn’t entirely lost her charm she 
knew just how to cajole him. How many times in the 
first days together she had won him over! He was like 
a dog who loved to have his head rubbed. 

“Before he gets round to asking disagreeable ques¬ 
tions, I’ll run my fingers through his hair and kiss him. 
If only I don’t lose my head and say mean things to pre¬ 
vent him from speaking his mind to me!” 

The captain at dinner tried to be polite. It was not 
an unpleasant duty to address a few remarks to so pretty 
a woman, so well dressed and prosperous a woman. 

She replied in monosyllables. The pretty woman was 
not easy to approach. She was troubled about something. 
Her eyes told the story. 

That night she couldn’t sleep. The cabin was stuffy. 
Fifty times, a hundred times she went over the scenes that 
had led up to this. The conclusion was always the same: 
She would start all over again with Peter who was worth 
the sacrifice, provided, of course, he was not hateful about 
her little escapade. 

Each time at this point it was necessary to review the 
past few weeks in detail. And in her review the salient 
points on which she dwelt with the keenest pleasure were 
those departures from strict conduct which she would have 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


225 


censured in anyone else. Probably it is partly due to our 
pride in having broken the rules, that lack of contrition, 
that glorying in transgression unpunished which is a uni¬ 
versal human trait. He who does not know it is in a 
class by himself. 

Esther Landon could not sleep. She gazed out at the 
darkness through the porthole, and decided that one must 
live. Ko Ko had treated her shabbily. To be sure, he 
had been generous financially. He was always liberal 
with money. It cost him nothing. But he had explicitly 
promised a reward of another sort for helping him at that 
time with Constance. Was it her fault if things went 
wrong, upsetting his designs? 

She wanted to feel very indignant towards her rival, 
was surprised that her jealousy of Constance did not 
rankle more. The truth was that Esther Landon was a 
mixture of contradictions; that love of luxury, the desire 
to dress well—these common failings combined in her 
with laziness to ruin what without them would have been 
a strong and lovable character. 

This was the conclusion reached by her in summing up 
her vices and virtues. Doubtless she was not far from 
the truth. The one transgression, she decided, which she 
could not forgive that Farley woman was that she had let 
her down. 

So the night passed, and the day and the next night. 
Getting home had little of thrill and excitement to recom¬ 
mend it. “If he is out when I arrive I’ll put a note in 
the door knob as Fve done so many times, and I’ll simply 


226 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


say: ‘Vashti, your queen, is within awaiting King Peter’ 
—that will amuse him. Good old Peter. It will be rather 
good fun to see him at the table feasting his hungry eyes 
on me. How that used to thrill me! I can feel it now 
and the way it embarrassed me until I had to beg him to 
stop.” 

This was her soliloquy on the third day when, trans¬ 
ferred with all her belongings at the last landing stage 
below her home, she was forced to continue her journey 
in a fisherman’s boat. 

It was afternoon. When she caught the first glimpse 
of the little yellow house the sun was getting low. It was 
nearly the last week in August. The days were already 
growing cooler. 

Peter had planted two trees to relieve the solitary lone¬ 
liness of his house. And a clump of bamboo that grows 
so fast it had already the appearance of a tiny forest 
towering above the porch from where she looked up 
at it. 

The door was shut. Peter was nowhere in sight—not 
yet come home from his disastrous mine up the river. 

She had written that playful note. It was ready in 
her handbag. How amazed old Peter would be when he 
found it. Would he be delighted when he saw that it was 
not a hoax, that she was really there ? 

It may have been by contrast with the fisherman but 
the thought of Peter just then was distinctly pleasing. 
Pie could really look almost handsome at times for a man 
of so little height and presence. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 227 

The fisherman was very obliging about carrying up all 
those heavy boxes. It took some little time to marshal 
them all on the grass before the door. Esther meantime 
was hunting for the key. He must have chosen a new 
hiding place for it. They always had kept it behind the 
right hand shutter. 

“What fun/’ she exclaimed aloud, “if he should come 
just now before I get moved in.” 

The key was nowhere to be found. The fisherman not 
to be outdone by bars and bolts forced a kitchen window, 
crawled in and soon had the little kitchen door open to 
relieve him of his responsibility and his cargo. The man 
knew but few words of English, she but few of Chinese. 
Silver he understood so well that he rang each of the two 
Mexican dollars she paid him against its mate and against 
a stone before he was satisfied to accept them. He 
grinned as he said good-by. This homecoming amused 
him. In another minute he was in his flat boat sculling 
with the stream. 

Esther stood in the open doorway to watch him round 
the first bend in the river. Not once did he look back at 
the woman. This was the first time since she had come 
to China that she would have welcomed such attention. 
Now she was alone, not a human being in sight and 
p eter — w hy, Peter had fallen into bad habits while she 
was away. Could it be that Peter also hated coming home 
to an empty house ? 

The sun was setting. A long way upstream a motor 
boat was coming. That must be Peter. 


22 8 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


The eternal feminine instinct to please, to be attractive, 
to look her best, impelled Esther to prepare for his com¬ 
ing. The bedroom was in horrible confusion, not a sheet 
on either bed, a bureau drawer had been hastily turned 
upside down on the floor; its contents dumped in a pile— 
collars, shirts, ties. 

“Why, this house is a mess!” she exclaimed, irritated 
to find that Peter had got along so poorly without her. 
It was inconceivable that the man should have attempted 
to live there without a servant. A boy can be had for 
such small wages. 

The water in the pitcher looked and smelt as if it had 
stood there for weeks. Nowhere was there a sign to in¬ 
dicate that the house was really inhabited. However, this 
once she would try to make the best of it. It had its 
comical side, this heplessness of the male. 

“My first job will be to get one or two decent boys 
here,” she said to the empty walls. 

Her voice sounded ghostly, it made her a little afraid 
of the emptiness all about her. She hurried through the 
unsatisfactory process of washing her hands and face in 
ancient rain water, smoothed her hair before her mirror 
and hurried back to the door before he should arrive. 

The little motor boat had passed. 

It looked exactly like Peter’s boat. Why should he 
pass the landing? Could it be that he had abandoned his 
own house, gone to live with that Dutchman a mile below 
them? Peter had never liked that man—said he wasn’t 
to be trusted. But his wife was reputed to be a good 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


229 

cook. He might have been so lonely that he would put 
up with anything rather than this solitude. 

“Poor old Peter—T wonder if he comes home to sleep.” 

This time she whispered it so as not hear the echo of 
her own voice. To put it into words was more like having 
someone to talk to. 

“What shall I do?” she asked herself. “I cannot get 
down the river, and there is no road. Oh, what a fool 
to start off without even sending him word! I just, 
couldn’t stay there another day after what happened— 
and see what I have come back to!” 

Her hands clutched tightly a wisp of handkerchief. 

“I’m afraid I’m going to cry,” she whimpered like a 
child that had lost its mother. 

A board creaked loudly in the room behind her and she 
screamed, then checked herself for very shame. 

“No use to make it tragic,” she told herself. “I’m not 
going to be a silly ass.” 

There was no one in the room. She could see that 
plainly enough and boards were always creaking and doing 
things when the air got cooler. He might come any min¬ 
ute. That might have been another boat. Boats look so 
much alike. 

“I must look for a lamp,” she thought. “It is fast 
growing dark, and I don’t even know where things are.’ 

The living room was in worse confusion than the bed¬ 
room, but the lamp contained oil. Thank Heaven for 
that! A few matches lay beside Peter’s pipe on the table. 
That was cheering. He must be living here. 


230 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


Next to see what food was in the house. That would 
be in the kitchen cupboard. 

“I will make tea and have everything ready for him. 
That will surprise him more than my return, ,, she almost 
laughed as she pictured old Peter’s look of happy 
amazement. 

The laugh died unborn. Not a crumb in the cupboard. 
Only a few soiled dishes. The canister was half full of 
tea. An orange on a plate beside it had rotted until it 
was a jelly. One more look outside. She would carry 
the lamp with her, it would be such fun to see him rushing 
up to see who dared trespass in his house. 

“He wouldn’t be afraid to rush up either, not he! Not 
Peter! He may be little, but I never saw the man my 
Peter was afraid of.” 

Ugh! It was gruesome out there in the still night. 
Darkness was coming on very fast. 

“In case he should be coming, I’ll slip round to the 
front so that he will see the light.” 

Close by the side wall not fifty feet from the house 
stood the yellow coffin of Peter’s old Amah. 

“How mean I was tp quarrel with him about that. I 
think one of the very first things I do will be to tell him. 
—My God! What’s that—beside Amah’s coffin? My 
God, I must be mad! No! There are two—two coffins 
there!” 

Holding the lamp she stumbled forward to make sure. 
A second coffin stood beside the old Amah’s. A new 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


231 

coffin a metal plate on its lid. Her hand shook so that 
the chimney rattled but the light on that bright new plate 
revealed a name. Esther’s knees shook together as she 
read: 

“Peter Landon—Died August 10, 1923.” 

Peter was dead, and no one had even been able to tell 
the date of his birth! And they had placed his coffin out 
here, Chinese fashion, beside his old Amah! Quite likely 
he had requested it. 

So it all flashed through her mind as she stood there, 
shaking, quaking with the horror of it, holding the lamp 
in her trembling hand. Tears fell unheeded on that new 
coffin plate gleaming in the lamp light, giving back its re¬ 
flection of the face bent over it. Tears wet the new coffin 
lid indifferent to the grief of the widow as to all things 
mortal. Its sole task was to cover the dead. What con¬ 
cern, what care had it for the living ? 

She who had so soon tired of Peter Landon’s company, 
she who had reviled him as a failure, she who had for¬ 
saken him in the chase for pleasure, had left him to die 
alone, untended—knelt beside his coffin there in the soli¬ 
tude and night, and forgot herself. All that he had been 
of patient, uncomplaining courage and fidelity came back 
to overwhelm her kneeling there. 

Oh, that he might come back for one brief minute to 
hear her confession, to forgive the wrong she had done 
him, the slights, the unkindness, and then—worst of all— 
did he suspect that she was deliberately unfaithful? 


232 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

“God forgive me!” she cried again and again. 

Did she hope for an answer as she cowered there by 
the side of what was once Peter Landon ? 

An owl far off shook the still air with his wailing cry. 
The lamp flickered—and went out. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


To Constance Farley, after her years of life in the 
East, thoroughly used to Oriental ways, unconventional, 
indifferent to criticism, it was none the less a very trying 
experience, travelling with a Chinese. 

It may or may not be the best way, but in all the East 
one sees very little social intercourse between natives and 
Europeans. Business is one thing; social life quite 
another and a different thing. 

Constance knew when she and Mr. Ko came to the table 
together that every eye in the saloon was appraising the 
situation, that after dinner there would be a rush to the 
purser’s office to ascertain exactly what were the facts 
as to their cabins. Fortune or Mr. Ko’s forethought had 
placed them far apart; that was something! 

It was an unusual, an extraordinary sight, she was well 
aware of that,—an American or English woman coming 
to the table with a Chinese, even though it was fairly ob¬ 
vious that he was a cultivated gentleman. Social habits 
are as hard to change as noses, and as plain to see. There 
isn’t necessarily any logic in either and you cannot blow 
either away. There they are—powder is wasted on them. 
It is wiser to accept them just as they are. 

From Shanghai to Moji is but six hundred miles, two 

233 


234 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


days, but they were days of torment for the woman who 
thought she didn’t care, was independent of the opinions 
of strangers. She found that she did care, that this was 
another matter; not at all the same as eccentricity in dress 
or how one chose to do her hair. 

No fault could be found with Mr. Ko. He understood 
and was considerate enough to leave her to herself. Dur¬ 
ing the evening he would come and sit by her for a chat. 
He gave the impression of one who happened to be taking 
the same journey and was looking out for her. 

Mr. Ko was a man of the world. There may have been 
tricks that were strange to him, delicate touches in the 
game we call Life of which he was ignorant—Constance 
would have told you that if such was the case she had 
not discovered it. A past grand master, this collector, 
this dilettante, this student of mankind, this emissary of 
the greatest of all the gods—Mammon. 

One night as they sat on deck enjoying the balmy breeze 
he began once more to speak of her, of her life, what 
lay before her, what she might be if- 

“If what?” she wondered. Something held her back 
from asking. She seemed to fear a little to know what 
he meant. 

He drew his chair round until he half faced her. 

“I can speak better if I can see your eyes,” he explained. 
“I had never before known this: how much one can 
read in blue eyes—so much more than dark ones.” 

“Nonsense. The color of anyone’s eyes has nothing to 



WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


235 

do with it. Look at yours—black as night, but I can read 
your thoughts in them as clear as print.” 

“So? Then tell me what is it I am thinking just now?” 

She laughed, and leaned a little towards him. The 
light from a window of the lounge lighted his face. 

“You are thinking how vain women are, how easy to 
turn their heads by a little flattery. You are really not 
a bit Chinese, are you?” 

“You mean that my countrymen do not know sentiment ? 
To be sure, they have not what you call flirtation, they 
do not kiss, they do not woo. Yes, you are right. To my 
people the woman is child bearer, she is mother, she is 
housekeeper—but she is not friend. We are very dif¬ 
ferent. When I go to college in England, I learn many 
things, this among them, and since in my travel, in my 
books, everywhere, I see and I take what seems better 
than my country. What seems to me no better or not so 
good, this I leave alone.” 

“I have often thought how wise you are to stick to 
your own beautiful style of dress. That is so much more 
picturesque and individual and dignified.” 

“And appropriate,” he added. 

“But you have not read aright in my eyes of what I 
was thinking. Women may be vain, but you are not. 
It is not of empty things I was thinking but of fullness.” 

“Fullness?” she asked. “Fullness of what?” 

“Of the power to make a man happy,” he answered, 
and the light through the saloon windows revealed a look 


236 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


in the dark eyes that Constance had never before seen in 
any eyes. It was a look that told its secret unblushingly, 
a look that had every reason to blush and hide its head 
for shame. 

Instinctively she was afraid, repelled, disgusted. It 
showed itself in those telltale blue eyes. Mr. Ko saw 
it instantly; before she knew that it was there his whole 
manner had changed. He was smiling now, his brotherly, 
good natured, indulgent smile, as he continued: 

“The power that seeks to make all men happy, to bring 
the nations together, to give this poor, stupid world a 
chance to live and let live.” 

Constance not naturally suspicious, was disarmed. It 
was the strange, fierce look of the Chinese and Indians 
which to us is inscrutable. So she explained it to herself. 
She had been mistaken in that terrible look. That was all. 

“You are a strange man,” she said aloud. “Sometimes 
I wonder if I understand you at all.” 

“The lady is very kind to try,” he replied warmly. 
“There is no one, no one,”—he seemed at a loss for the 
right expression. His long hands were measuring dis¬ 
tances of half a yard, his favorite gesture—“Whom I 
should so wish to know me very well,” he continued. “I 
feel sure that you would be lenient towards the faults of 
a man. That you could not quite understand you would 
overlook. Is it not the heart which counts for most? 
Cold nature makes the boast that the head governs the 
heart—huh! For me let it be the heart which governs 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


237 

always the head. My head makes some times mistakes, 
my heart never!” 

She couldn’t see his eyes. He had cleverly withdrawn 
just out of range of that light from the saloon. The 
zeal of the collector was leading Ko-Yiang to take risks, 
which he turned to account by stopping just in time. 
Was it because this particular specimen was so hard to 
get that Mr. Ko was willing to take greater risks, to lay 
deeper snares than he had ever tried before? It seemed 
to him that she was the most to be desired, the most fasci¬ 
nating woman he had ever met. That slow, deliberate 
speech, the easy grace of her body, and those deep blue 
eyes—whichever way he turned he could see them. 
When, half shut, they laughed at you, daring you to come 
on—was anything on earth so seductive! He allowed 
himself to dwell on these thoughts until they haunted his 
sleep. 

Constance Farley was the pearl of great price. 

There was one more night, crossing the channel to 
Fusan. The only other passengers were Japanese. They 
two stood well aft watching the land as it faded from 
sight. Soon only the stars gave them light. The water 
was black. It struck under the ship with a savage thud. 

Mr. Ko stood very close beside her. “I should hate 
to be alone now,” he began after a long interval of silence. 
“It is—I mean it would then be oppressively lonely.” 

When she did not respond but stood there gazing down 
into the dark water, he asked: 


238 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


“Are you never lonely ? Is it enough to have one’s own 
thoughts, memories of what has been, hopes for what’s 
yet to come? These are company, but—are these quite 
satisfying?” 

How he craved there, where they two were the only 
ones that existed, to take her in his arms, to crush her to 
him, to force her to feel what he felt—this man who had 
learned European ways, this man whose will was never 
thwarted, this man who drank life to its dregs, who com¬ 
bined in his strange nature the unfathomable Orient with 
every refinement of self-indulgence known to the idle rich 
of Europe. 

A Frenchman, an Italian, yes, and a man of any other 
nationality would have yielded to the temptation or, mak¬ 
ing an excuse to leave her, would have fled—Mr. Ko did 
neither, he waited. 

The most ardent fisherman having cast his fly, with 
patience waits for the trout to rise. If today the fish 
refuses to bite, hunger tomorrow may tempt it to take 
the bait. 

So reasoned Ko-Yiang, expert in many things, in this 
best of all. The weakness known as pity he had never 
understood. Was he not rich? Did he not pay lavishly 
with his great wealth for what he wanted ? 

Ah, it was an exicting game, the chase! He had always 
won. This conquest because the hardest was the best 
of all. 

“Yes, I am lonely sometimes,” came the slow reply. 
“Mountains make me lonely—they are so big and im- 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


239 


movable. It always seems to me that they despise me. 
The ocean in a storm, that despises us, too. And some¬ 
times I have met people who seemed to look at me as 
I should look at a dead fly-” 

“Ah,” he murmured, softly not to frighten the trout, 
“but if you are with one who sees in you every perfection 
you could not then feel lonely.” 

“I don’t see just what we are going to accomplish 
through Sin Chang,” she said more abruptly than he had 
ever heard her speak. 

Why should she change to a new topic when they 
hadn’t finished his? They hadn’t scratched it. Some¬ 
thing had frightened Mr. Ko’s fish, just as he had begun 
to think of the reel and the landing net. 

“That is what you will see in a few days,” he assured 
her. The darkness hid the smile of triumph that curled 
his lip as he went on to explain: “With my backing 
and guidance your mountaineer pupil may become a 
prophet to lead his people. The stage is set for just such 
action. The peoples of the East are reckless, impatient, 
waiting for they know not what, but ready. Have you 
not heard the term of angel given to him who supplies 
the needed moneys to finance the play ? 

“I am the angel. Others will play the leading parts.” 

Again as he finished, that unpleasant smile curled his 
lip. It seemed to sneer at her for believing the words so 
meaningless, so false. 

His voice was earnest; sincerity vibrated in that deep 
tone, deep, yet not deeper than the man who uttered it. 


240 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


The woman leaning on the rail felt that she understood, 
repented if at rare intervals distrust had crept in to shake 
her confidence in him, and assured him: 

“I think it is a noble thing to spend one’s money in such 
a cause. You have never spoken of such things—I like 
that sort of reticence. Yes, it is well worth the—small 
sacrifice it costs me. Besides—I am truly grateful for 
the wonderful presents which I should certainly have 
refused to accept from anyone—anyone else. Somehow 
I didn’t dare refuse them, because you have a way of 
making it appear you are not the benefactor but the 
benefited.” 

“You please more than I can tell you when you speak 
like this,” he replied. 

Ah, at last he was getting on. His eyes fairly glistened 
with satisfaction. It had been a struggle but he knew 
the symptoms—gratitude spiced with admiration caused 
more falls than pride ever heard of. 

The artist in him was roused. As an expert he valued 
most highly the conquest which terminated in cheerful 
surrender, surrender of the will, that delightful compliance 
which is more than yielding. To reach this stage had, 
however, taken so long that he found it almost impossible 
to curb himself. What would happen now, he wondered, 
if he should tell her he could hold out no longer against 
the ache, the longing that was eating out his heart ? And 
then, if he should engulf her in his strong arms and revel 
in the European indulgence of kisses—for kissing is a 
habit, which once formed is broken only when there is 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


241 


none willing to be kissed. He thought these things, still 
his control of himself was such that he gave no sign of 
them. 

Was she racked by the same desire? he wondered. 

Presently she sighed. 

“Why do you sigh, dear—lady?” he murmured, for 
there are questions and answers that even the wind and 
the sea must not hear. 

“Thinking of home,” she lied, for it was of him she was 
thinking, which didn’t mean Mr. Ko-Yiang but someone 
as different from him as gold differs from brass. 

“Of home? Home is where we are dwelling. It may 
be here, it may be there. Only the provincial limit the 
idea to their birthplace, their parents, their childhood 
dwelling place—and of all women I have known you are 
the least provincial.” 

“Do you mean you think it a weakness to love one’s 
real home?” 

“Not a weakness, an error, waste of affection. We are 
in the earth but a few years. The wise make the home 
where is most pleasure.” 

“I doubt if you believe that,” she said turning away to 
watch a belated fishing boat, the lights of which could be 
seen bobbing like fireflies. 

His arms were extended to grasp her. Why wait an¬ 
other day for this elusive creature who would not give you 
her attention for five consecutive minutes? She must be 
forced, compelled. Afterwards she would confess that 
nothing suited her so well. 


24 2 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


“Come/’ she commanded, “let’s go in. We’ve ex¬ 
hausted the delights of peering at the rudder.” 

“The rudder,” he argued, “is far below. You could 
not possibly see it. Besides, there are no delights in 
looking at rudders.” 

Disappointment was making him irritable. This phe¬ 
nomenon, alas, is not confined to the Chinese. She made 
no reply until they had gone inside, then she faced him 
smiling: 

“You know very well that the rudder is almost as im¬ 
portant as the engine. There’s really no use in starting 
if you can’t get where you want to go.” 

“Ah, an allegory,” he exclaimed, delighted. Here was 
a nut to crack. She meant that he should interpret that 
figure. It certainly had some bearing on the question 
of their future course together. After she had gone to 
bed he paced the deck trying to solve it. 


CHAPTER XXV 


Wealth was able to stop the Manchuria train steam¬ 
ing north from Taiden towards Seoul—wealth lavishly 
expended. 

Constance looking eagerly from the car window saw 
the mighty figure of Sin Chang driving two of his bul¬ 
locks up the steep path to the little stone hut perched 
aloft on the mountainside as sentinel of the valley. 

He had turned to watch the train laboring as it climbed; 
now, as it slowed preparing to stop, he faced directly 
about. This was no ordinary passing of the express. 
Why did it stop at his crossing? Had it anything to do 
with Mr. Householder? 

Since the departure of the Anglish and the Missioner’s 
daughter he had heard nothing either from them or from 
the Japanese. To be sure, letters awaited his call at 
Seoul, but he had not made the journey since they left. 

Constance, as she stepped from the train, waved to him. 
How powerful, how noble the giant looked standing there 
among his hills, his white clothes in such sharp contrast 
to the dark gray rock behind him. His faithful, black 
hound was close at his heels. The bullocks, curious also, 
stood looking back in bovine surprise at anything that 
243 


244 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


was not food or drink or the man whose heavy hand 
never spared them. 

A moment he stood, until her gesture made him sure; 
then down he dashed, light of foot as a child, and like a 
child he danced for joy at sight of the Teacher. 

He seized her hands and kissed them. His long, yel¬ 
low teeth were bared in a perpetual grin. What baggage 
the travellers had he took from them, carrying it all as 
one would carry a satchel. And all the time his deep 
voice rumbled native words of welcome which Constance 
understood, answering as he would have her answer, in 
phrases that he loved to hear. 

‘‘You too are welcome,” came his belated announcement 
to the great gentleman of China, just as they reached the 
little plateau before his house. 

Mr. Ko-Yiang, who had never countenanced familiarity 
from inferiors, frowned and made no reply. 

Once only the Korean looked at him, a scrutinizing look 
that was almost a glare. He, Sin Chang, was master here 
—he bowed to no man, least of all to foreigners. And 
had not the lordly blond gentleman, the Anglish, treated 
him as an equal from the very start? 

For what should a Chinese millionaire take to himself 
the manner of a King—to scowl and turn away from 
him on his own domain? Was not Sin Chang a name 
known even in Taiden? 

The soft voice of his teacher turned his thoughts back 
to pleasant things. 

“I knew we were sure of a welcome,” she said, “we 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 245 

have come to help your country. Later you shall hear all 
about it.” 

Mr. Ko frowned and turned his head away. Why 
should she talk in a language strange to him? The Ko¬ 
rean understood English. 

“Where is my friend, the Anglish?” asked Sin Chang, 
looking hard at Mr. Ko as he spoke. 

She hesitated; then: 

“Mr. Householder has business to look after.” 

Then after another pause: 

“Mr. Ko has a very generous plan which I will explain 
to you tomorrow.” 

“A generous plan ? So! A generous plan! But 
Missy shall explain—tomorrow.” 

The door of the hut opened. Beautiful as ever, lithe 
as a panther—and as untrustworthy—Yisan stood before 
them. 

She wore the regular peasant costume of coarse white 
cotton, the skirt voluminous, draped in folds about her, 
the neck and shoulders likewise covered, the firm, round 
breasts completely bare, frankly exposed to observation, 
thus proving that clothing serves two primary purposes: 
adornment, and to excite curiosity by partial concealment. 
It may be the eyes thus covered, it may be the back of the 
hand. The inquisitive mind must have a peep behind the 
curtain. That is the secret of the show business—what 
is not shown. 

Is it also the secret of Art—that the artist suggests: 
The imagination of the beholder fills the canvas. 


246 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


Yisan was beautiful. Constance accustomed for years 
to the sight of the costume paid no heed to it. Something 
glowed and burned in Ko-Yiang’s eyes, fastening their 
gaze on Yisan’s breast. It was something from which 
Constance recoiled in horror. 

Not so Yisan. A man looked at her with admira¬ 
tion. And the man was a personage. One saw it by his 
dress. 

“Missy has come,” rolled the deep bass of her spouse, 
recalling her to her duties as hostess. 

She heard in the announcement only the man’s joy that 
the foreign angel who had taught him, whom he wor¬ 
shipped as a divinity, had come back to bless his humble 
home with her presence. And Yisan hated her. She also 
feared her lord and master whose habit it was to punish 
wrongdoing. 

She bowed herself in a deep curtsy to the foreign 
woman. 

When she looked up her alluring smile was all for the 
Chinese gentleman, the man whose fierce eyes spoke to 
one’s very heart. 

“You have work to do,” her lord reminded her. “In 
another hour the sun goes down behind the mountain— 
supper for the Missy.” 

“Supper for the gentleman,” she corrected to suit her¬ 
self, at which Constance, highly amused, asked if she might 
help. This laudable intention Sin Chang cut short with 
a blunt refusal: “Such work is not for Missy.” 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


247 

That settled it. Both women knew him too well to 
argue. 

Bread, coarse but good—a food Sin Chang had learned 
to eat—the goat’s milk cheese, these formed the staple of 
the evening meal. The great jug of his own brew was 
lifted from its cool retreat beneath the floor, a porridge 
flavored with herbs completed the repast. 

The exquisite Mr. Ko ate sparingly; the drink he re¬ 
fused with bad grace, whereupon the host with a laugh re¬ 
marked to Constance: “Only dainty things, the breast of 
a small bird, the bottle of choice wine for him who wears 
such a ring upon his finger.” 

Constance trembled for fear her accomplished Chinese 
friend might know enough of Korean to understand the 
slur. 

If these two were to act together for so laudable a 
purpose as that outlined by Ko-Yiang, they must be 
friends, at least not enemies. 

Yisan lost no opportunity to complicate matters. She 
also had taken note of the huge sapphire that adorned Mr. 
Ko’s long, slender hand. Her intelligence could rise eas¬ 
ily to the appreciation of jewels. She knew the genuine 
from the counterfeit by the people who wore them. 
Would a poor man wear a genuine stone—or a rich man 
a counterfeit? 

In jewelry Yisan was on the same plane with cultivated 
persons of other races. 

Sin Chang got down his long pipe, filled it with the 


248 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


tobacco of his own raising, and blew great clouds of pun¬ 
gent smoke from his capacious lips. 

Why didn't Mr. Ko take this favorable time to intro¬ 
duce the object of his visit? 

Constance decided that her presence might embarrass 
him, so she slipped out into the yard behind the house 
where the bullocks lay breathing the long drawn breath of 
sleep. 

Rising at her first step the huge dog, fit companion of 
his master, came slowly to meet her, stretching his legs, 
and yawning as a dog will when roused by an unfamiliar 
smell. 

Yet with a dog’s memory he knew her for a friend, and, 
when he had duly stretched and yawned, came to shove 
his cold nose into her hand—which is a dog’s way of say¬ 
ing : ‘Tm glad to see you.” 

Down there in the starlit valley, mighty trees and little 
bushes seemed to form a level carpet. On the farther side 
the mountains made a colossal crouching animal, making 
ready to spring. The light shone through the little back 
window of the hut. 

Constance, listening for the sound of men’s voices, heard 
not a word. Strange creatures men, so simple yet so 
complex. Why waste all this precious time if he had 
come here with a settled purpose? That the purpose 
might not be known to her she never even suspected, wait¬ 
ing there to make it easier for the men. 

When his pipe was finished Sin Chang went outside to 
have a look at his animals. Ooloong, the black dragon, 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


249 


would give the alarm in case of prowling creatures, but 
the owner needed to make sure that his fences held, that 
no venturesome creature had tried to break away. 

He found his teacher seated on the flat rock where she 
had sat night after night with the Englishman. What ill 
chance could have driven him away to substitute this for¬ 
bidding, haughty Chinese in his place? 

He could find no way to ask her, but he would watch, 
and the answer would come. 

“Missy make the long journey back again,” he said, 
“Sin Chang is very glad Missy has come for some reason 
Sin Chang does not understand. But when proper time 
is to explain—Missy will explain.” 

“One of us, yes. You must understand this is Mr. 
Ko’s plan, not mine.” 

“So? It is not your plan. It is Chinese millionaire’s 
plan. But you also have come. Sin Chang who waits 
for the big cat to spring before he shoot—can wait also 
for the wearer of finger rings.” 

It was not going to be an easy matter to break down 
this strong prejudice. 

She knew her man, knew the sincerity of his nature, 
that he was rough, coarse, often cruel. Never to her 
had the giant been other than docile, humble, utterly trust¬ 
ing and reliable. 

Mr. Ko, for some reason unsuspected by her, was bring¬ 
ing out the untamed side of the man’s nature, making the 
task harder if he were to be asked to work under Mr. 
Ko’s lead. That comparison of tiger shooting with handl- 


250 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


ing Mr. Ko was ominous. She must say something now 
to dispel that unfortunate prejudice. 

“Mr. Householder and I,” she declared, “have been 
seeing Mr. Ko very often in Shanghai. He is a very 
generous man-” 

“Gives much money?” Sin Chang interrupted. 

“Yes, much money.” 

“Is this generous for man who has—” here he spread 
wide his two mighty arms, indicating vastness—“so much 
of money to give some to this and to that?” 

“Better than being stingy and keeping it all,” she re¬ 
torted. 

“You say Mr. Household—he also believe the Chinese 
good man?” 

“I—think so,” came reluctantly, for she was not sure 
that Jerry agreed with her as to Ko-Yiang. 

“I think not so, Missy. The Anglish, he strong fine 
man—could not care so much for that wearer of rings, 
fine clothes, perfumery. When Mr. Household tell me so 
I believe.” Then, fearing to hurt his beloved Teacher, 
he added: “Missy understand I believe her, anything 
Missy say it is so. Missy do not say Mr. Household 
think that man all right.” 

“I know what you mean, good friend,” she assured him 
in her gentle way, “but I think we shall be able to show 
you another side of his nature, something to please you, 
tomorrow.” 

That calm, slow way of hers—how was she, who had 
been born with it, to know its effect on the mountaineer 



WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


251 

trained to harsh things, to danger, to a life of struggle? 
The spirit of the crusader sang in his ears. He was no 
analyst. But he knew that he would gladly die for that 
woman! 

The teacher knew many things, all things to be found 
in books. The teacher was wise and good. But with 
all her wisdom she would never know tigers—and men 
as he knew them. 

The air was getting cold. Silently, with the pupil who 
knew her, held her in reverence, she went back into the 
house. How quiet it was. No sound of voices—only 
far off the sharp bark of a fox. 

Sin Chang opened the door. The two figures over by 
the window sprang apart. Yisan, hurrying out to the 
little shed, made poor pretence of looking after the com¬ 
fort of her guest. 

Yisan, young and inexperienced, had not learned to 
act, else had she shown less anxiety about her dress. 
Mr. Ko, half facing the window, continued looking out 
at the yard, feigning an interest in bullocks dimly seen 
sleeping on the ground. 

Constance, who had seen all this, fearful of an out¬ 
burst from Sin Chang, laid a hand on his arm. The 
powerful muscles tightened, then relaxed. One who 
didn’t know the man would have been deceived into think¬ 
ing him blind—or indifferent. 

Constance long ago had learned the lesson which so 
many will never learn: that we must take men and women 
as we find them, useless trying to make them over. 


252 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


Hadn’t she put up with things among the missionaries 
themselves which were utterly inconsistent with their 
work, their purpose, their principles? 

After all, she held no brief for Mr. Ko. Like other 
men he was doubtless a mixture of good and evil. If 
his standards of taste in certain respects differed from 
ours, they were not necessarily worse than ours. 

“He lacks tact,” was her final decision just before 
she fell asleep. 

At dawn, hearing footsteps and a muttered curse or 
two, she looked forth from her window to see the hunter 
setting out with two bullocks, his pet long rifle, the cus¬ 
tomary murderous knife in his belt, his black beard and 
fierce black eyes blacker than ever. Up over the moun¬ 
tain he went, the mighty black hound forming a rear 
guard. 

How the man loved danger, to match his cunning 
against that of the fiercest animals—his quickness, his 
courage against theirs. The day was tame without him. 

Yisan, who could converse with Mr. Ko only by the 
universal language of signs, lost no opportunity of letting 
him know that his masculine charms had won her heart. 

All day, ignoring these obvious coquetries, he had tried 
to induce Constance to go for a walk. He could make 
no headway under the jealous scrutiny of the persistent 
Yisan, who never lost sight of him. 

Some strange obstinacy, however, had taken possession 
of the American. She could give no adequate reason 
for refusing to go, but she refused. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


253 


They had come to win Sin Chang’s co-operation. Mr. 
Ko had let his first opportunity slip through his fingers. 
He had lost ground. She was a little disappointed, a 
little impatient with him. 

At dusk, according to his custom, Sin Chang returned. 
One of the bullocks carried the skin of a monstrous tiger. 
It hung down dripping blood, at which the sensitive 
nostrils of Ooloong quivered. Had he not been near his 
death when that same keen nose discovered the beast 
hiding in the bushes? 

Constance made the hunter talk of his day’s doings, 
but, though she tried translating it for Mr. Ko, that lover 
of luxury showed no interest in the tale. 

It was after supper, which that evening was a hearty 
meal of rabbit stew, when Mr. Ko found the opportunity 
for which he had come. 

That night Sin Chang had served them wine from the 
mountain wild grapes, a heady wine of subtle flavors, 
flavors that once had been rough, now rendered subtle 
by long ripening, a wine not unlike some men. 

Mr. Ko had drunk freely of it, though without so much 
as a compliment to the man who had made and served it. 
He had also urged it upon Constance. “It is not at all 
strong,” he insisted, “delicious taste, but not much al¬ 
cohol.” Constance drank more of it than she realized. 

Then, after the meal, while Yisan was busy with her 
dishes, Sin Chang cut short his smoke to stretch the great 
skin on a frame out in the yard. Constance and Mr. 
Ko had lighted cigarettes. Outside it was not too dark 


254 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


to see the gray lines of trees and the valley looking like 
a great lake of blackness held in the denser blackness of 
the mountain range. From behind the house came the 
fitful gleam of Sin Chang’s lantern as he went about his 
task. Up the thickly wooded slope the tiger’s mate lay 
grieving as near as she had dared to come, such was her 
respect for the mighty hunter who flashed death. 

Her lamentations tore the still night, cursed the cruel 
executioner, who, if he heard, laughed at her impotence, 
and terrified the bullocks huddling around the big black 
dog, their brave defender. 

“What a blood curdling howl!” Constance exclaimed, 
shuddering to hear it repeated. 

“Do you think the creature will dare come any nearer ?” 

“No fear,” the man assured her. “This savage hunter 
would welcome a shot at the mate. He cares no more 
for a tiger than—well, you must know he also is wild as 
the tiger.” 

“A short way down this path,” he broke ofT to explain, 
“I have found today a seat from which is, even in this 
light, very beautiful view. It is quite near, quite the 
other side from your roaring widow up yonder. Come, 
I will show you. There we can lay our plans—undis¬ 
turbed—yes, undisturbed.” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


When Jerry Householder left Ko-Yiang’s palatial 
house in Bubbling Well Road after his unsatisfactory in¬ 
terview with Esther Landon, one purpose possessed his 
mind: he must get away from Shanghai. 

He cursed himself for a fool that he had been so precipi¬ 
tate in rushing back with no good reason, no settled plan 
in his mind. 

Once hack as far as Nanking Road, his thoughts began 
to take definite shape. Up to this point as he sped along 
he had been repeating half aloud: “Donkeys’ ears! I 
might have known better.” 

But, when he had collided with an attractive French 
girl who begged his pardombut hadn’t caught his remark, 
he came to himself sufficiently to explain: “Sorry—I’ve 
a bad habit of talking to myself.” This was getting too 
close to dotage. He pulled his mind round to consider 
ways and means. 

The Empress of Australia was sailing that afternoon 
for Yokohama on her way to Vancouver. Tiffin aboard 
of her—he would be just in time. Once more he would 
shake off the dust of recent experiences, the memory of 
which was painful and humiliating. 

Nothing, nothing on earth should ever again tempt him 

255 


256 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


to poke his nose into politics. Nothing could break his 
firm resolve to keep clear of women. In the lobby of 
the hotel an old friend waylaid him to have a gin and 
bitters. 

“Sorry, no time, old dear!’ , he fired back as he hur¬ 
ried into the lift. 

“Why the sudden haste?” his friend insisted, follow¬ 
ing him to the door. “Own up, Jerry; if it’s a woman, 
I'll let you off.” 

“I finished up my business, do you see, unexpectedly, 
so I’m going to nip off by the Australia for Yokohama,” 
Jerry explained. 

“Ah! I see, you sly dog, it’s nip off for Nippon. But 
your color tells me there’s a woman at the bottom of it.” 

“Now I wonder,” Jerry said to himself, as the crowded 
tender threaded her way through the big ships anchored 
down the river. 

“I wonder what ever put that idea in his head. Is my 
face an open book?” 

If there was a woman in the case that woman was his 
old love, Esther. That was clear enough. Too bad about 
that girl. She was bright, excellent company, when she 
chose to be. Hadn’t married the right sort of man for 
her temperament. 

Yes, if there was a woman, as his friend declared, 
that woman was Esther—Esther Landon, another man’s 
wife. 

It was a short journey on the swift Empress boat. 
On the thirtieth of August he was back at the Grand 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


257 


Hotel, back where his friends up there on the Bluff were 
tried and true. The life might not be so exciting, but 
neither was it so wearing. 

After dinner, as he smoked in the lounge, the usual 
American tourists were discussing their purchases. Every 
one had bought something for less than half its actual 
value. 

One man wore in his dress shirt a pair of iron cuff 
links, ornamented with Fujiyama in brass. He exhib¬ 
ited them with great pride. A shopkeeper had asked ten 
yen for them. “Not to me, Son,” the proud possessor 
had declared, “and before I came away I’d bought ’em 
for one yen, fifty.” 

“What are they made of ?” asked the red faced man who 
wore a collar that would fit a dray horse. 

“Why, they’re bronze inlaid with gold.” 

“John,” piped the fat lady whom he called Birdie, 
“how much real American money is one yen, fifty?” 

And John, who had that day given her ten yen to spend 
for anything she liked, answered: “Oh, that all depends 
on exchange. You wouldn’t understand it.” 

Jerry, forgetting troubles for the moment, decided that 
the Grand Hotel, Yokohama, was an entertaining place. 
But he had no intention to remain an idler. The fact 
that he had property enough to live on should never lead 
him to waste his life. 

His thought flew back to Shizuoka, and his friends in 
the tea trade. One of the big firms had an office in 
Yokohama. He might learn there how things were going 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


258 

in tea, whether it was possible to get back into the only 
business which he knew. With Jerry thought, decision 
and action were nearly simultaneous. He hurried at once 
along the Bund, turned sharply to the left, and he was 
there. As it happened so was Mr. Westgate who had 
come from Colombo to pick up a good reliable tea man 
for one of his company’s estates some twenty miles up in 
the hills above Kandy. The two met. Mr. Westgate 
was impressed by Jerry Householder’s appearance, by 
his charm of manner, by the straightforward honesty 
written on his face. 

Jerry hadn’t thought of tea culture, but he knew that 
Ceylon had a delightful climate, that the work was varied, 
and full of interest, that he would have some congenial 
neighbors. Furthermore, Mr. Westgate assured him he 
could buy stock in the company when he had assured him¬ 
self of its soundness as an investment. 

It seemed providential, Jerry thought, and signed on 
for three years. Mr. Westgate, who knew the difficulty 
in finding the reliable sort, was equally convinced that it 
was providential. 

The news and the articles of agreement were duly dis¬ 
patched by that afternoon’s post, and the two men parted, 
having agreed to meet next day at noon to talk things 
over at the Oriental Palace. 

That day was the first of September. 

As Jerry took his morning bath he thought how the 
day fitted his mood: clear and cloudless, neither too hot 
nor too cool—a propitious day, indeed. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


259 


Fishermen were putting off in their clean, unpainted 
boats. The long row of mighty cranes out on the long 
stone jetty swung to and fro unloading cargo from the 
waiting ships anchored alongside. Dozens of big liners 
lay off in the harbor where the sunlight danced along 
the waves; lighters swarmed about the big ships light¬ 
ening their load or filling their holds with the products of 
Japanese labor. At the long concrete pier of the Ca¬ 
nadian Pacific he could see the yachtlike hull and yellow 
funnels of the ship that had brought him. A column 
of black smoke poured from her; the little blue flag 
blew from her fore stay; two tug boats had fastened their 
lines to her bow. They puffed and snorted, important 
and impatient. The great freighter, Steel Navigator, lay 
just astern of the big Empress. Those two hornets must 
look sharp when they set out to turn her in such a narrow 
berth. 

'‘Business,” Jerry thought as he watched the bustling 
life of the harbor. “Japan reaching out for her share of 
the commerce of the world. How fast it grows!” 

Heavily loaded drays rumbled by his window, men 
hauling casks piled high and strapped with green hoops. 
Bulls, gay in red harness, drew lumber neatly piled and 
numbered on the ends. 

Boys in groups were on their way to school. Dainty 
little women carried the basket to market, clicking and 
clacking on their high clogs, hatless, their well anointed 
hair adorned with bright colored combs. 

Coolies trotted nimbly past with jinrickshas carrying 


26 o 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


the well-to-do. Motor cars, arrogant and above common 
rules, blared and trumpeted and sent the pedestrians 
scurrying to the sides of the narrow road—to give place 
to the rich. 

Women carrying children on their backs, leading older 
children, with other children yet to come- 

Everywhere color, life, beauty. 

What Europe calls the Extreme East—the picture book 
that is Japan. 

It seemed to Jerry, after his absence in Korea 
and China, that he had never so fully appreciated the 
gentle beauty, the life, the absorbing interest of Yoko¬ 
hama. 

Jerry had made a new start. He was about to leave 
all this for a strange and a different country. That fact 
may have emphasized the attraction of what he saw, 
but the beauty and the life were there that bright morn¬ 
ing for any one with sight to admire. 

After breakfast and a look at the newspaper he strolled 
along the Bund in the direction of the Oriental, only two 
blocks away. It still lacked an hour of his appointment, 
but he was sure to meet friends. 

“How things do shift and change in this world. Yes¬ 
terday I was fearful of degenerating into a loafer. To¬ 
day I am signed on for a new sort of life in a strange 
country. One thing I’ve found out lately. I’m a man’s 
man. Women are not in my line. Never were. I never 
made a hit with a woman in all my life. Hello, there’s 



WHERE THE TWAIN MET 261 

the Australia still at her pier. I thought she’d be off 
before this.” 

So his thoughts ran, till, looking up as he came in front 
of the Oriental, he spied a woman on the second floor, a 
little back from the window. She was gazing out at all 
that gay life in the harbor. Two boats shoving off 
from the beach with cheap curios to sell travellers, were 
racing each other to get there first. There was great 
splashing and shouting back and forth. The woman who 
was young and pretty laughed, showing white teeth. 

The man who was done with women watched intently 
from below. At that height—and in the shadow of the 
room—no one could tell—it was purely imagination— 
silly at that. Constance wasn’t within a thousand miles 
of Yokohama. Any American or English girl might look 
like her at that distance. The man who was done with 
women couldn’t get the notion out of his head. There 
was no warrant for it—just a woman who saw—and 
laughed. 

A tempter’s voice whispered in his ear: “That was 
true of her, you must admit it; she saw where others 
didn’t see—and she was the most sympathetic creature 
that ever lived.” 

“Sympathetic!” Jerry answered the tempter. 

“Yes, she has the missionary spirit all right. Philan¬ 
dering with that Chinese!” 

Whereupon the voice turned upon him: “That’s a 
rotten insinuation! You know better.” 


262 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


The man who was done with women turned in at the 
door of the hotel to get rid of disturbing memories. If 
he had made a new start in life it meant turning his 
back upon the old. Nevertheless he could not keep from 
his mind the picture of a woman who saw—and laughed. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


Constance knew men well enough to understand that 
Mr. Ko was of the class who cannot be driven, or even 
hurried. When he chose to act in the matter for which 
they had come, he would act. No woman could hasten 
the day or the hour. 

Right or wrong, Ko-Yiang had for years been a law 
unto himself. This plan that he had in his mind for 
bringing the nations of the East into harmonious co¬ 
operation would have seemed visionary were he another 
and a less positive type of man. Mr. Ko had expressly 
stated that he should not begrudge a heavy expenditure 
of money to make it a success. 

To be sure he had been extremely vague in the whole 
matter. He had discouraged any and all questions. He 
had cautioned her repeatedly to tell no one where they 
were going, or to drop so much as a hint of their purpose. 

‘‘You will understand why when our time has come, ,, 
he promised her. 

“If I know your nature, if I know woman so that I 
am able to read you, when the time has come and gone 
you will thank me for all these precautions.” 

Possibly he was right, he who knew so many things, but 
she could not understand it. 

263 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


264 

His present delay had seemed but an arbitrary exhi¬ 
bition of his power, a power which she granted him in 
the confident hope that the end would justify it. Now, 
unexpectedly, he seemed ready, even impatient. At last 
Mr. Ko was ready to act. She followed him fifty yards 
along the steep path, to where a rough seat had been 
placed between two pines. 

“Are you quite comfortable?” he asked. His voice 
trembled. His breathing was audible as if he had been 
running. What possible reason for this when they had 
not exerted themselves? She didn’t like to call attention 
to it by asking. 

For some minutes they smoked in silence. Growing 
accustomed to the faint starlight, they could make out 
distant weird shapes, nearer objects grew distinct. They 
were a part of that vast mountain region. Stone and for¬ 
est trees, fields in the valley, the mountain stream that 
leaped in a tiny waterfall beside the hut, the tumbling 
stream pleasantly heard even now, singing its high treble 
to the deeper toned song of the wind in the trees. 

“Constance,” the voice beside her sounded thick, not 
his usual voice. He had never before called her Con¬ 
stance. “You do not understand what you do to a man 
—with your blue eyes, your lazy voice, your beautiful 
body-” 

“I don’t care to know. It doesn’t interest me.” 

“Oh, here is where you make the mistake. You do 
not know your own nature. But I—I know it. I will 
reveal it to you.” 



WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


265 

**I am n °t interested to hear about it,” she repeated, 
starting to rise. His tone more than what he said had 
alarmed her; a vague terror chilled her. 

“You must hear,” she heard him say, as his long hand 
closed about hers dragging her back to her seat beside 
him. “Do you think I have waited all this time to let' 
you go so easily, you the beautiful untaught, you made for 
love, yet ignorant of its meaning?” 

His right hand held hers firmly in her lap. His left 
arm was about her shoulders, drawing her with brutal 
insistence towards him until she felt his hot breath on her 
cheek, looked into the lustful eyes so close to her own, 
felt the savage pressure of his body and the pounding 
of his heart against the frightened flutter of her own. 
She tried to speak, to reason with him. She tried to 
scream for help. 

At the first sound his greedy lips fastened upon hers, 
smothering her with kisses, the accomplishment he had 
learned from foreigners and adopted as his own. Only 
when he wearied of kissing did he release her, covering 
her mouth with his hand that she might not cry out. 

He was beside himself in the triumph of his passion. 
Every vestige of his culture, the refinement of years spent 
in study and in travel slipped from him. Behind his 
hand she muttered words of pitiful entreaty heard by 
the pitiless. 

She threatened; “There are laws protecting women 
from such as you. Unless you let me go this minute I 
will publish you to the world for what you are.” 


266 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


He laughed: “For what I am—that is a man who has 
Elysium in his arms, and will not let it go.” 

She promised him: “Release me now and I will keep 
it a secret. I will not tell. I promise you.” 

“You will not tell,” he whispered back, “for when you 
leave me you will have too much to tell—and you will 
have learned by then—such secrets.” His voice had fallen 
to so low a whisper that he put his lips to her ear that 
she might not escape a word. But first he kissed and 
kissed again the ear that must receive his poisonous words. 
And then he poured forth all the vileness of his soul, a 
madman, forcing her to look into the fetid cauldron of 
his inner self. He paused, still holding her tight in that 
hideous embrace. 

Not like the timid bird held in its captor’s hand, 
panting for fright, uttering its plaintive cheep, but of¬ 
fering no resistance, did Constance yield to her tor¬ 
mentor. 

She kicked and struggled, bit the long yellow fingers 
until they bled, then bit again and found his handkerchief 
stuffed into her mouth, heard him curse her roundly in 
a good English curse. 

No sooner had he cursed than he had gone back to 
kisses, protestations of undying love. 

She longed to ask if this was what he meant by love 
—to call him dog, but would not so insult a dog. 

She knew that if she were to help herself it must be 
quickly done. His superior strength was wearing her 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


267 

down. The struggle and the fear would soon exhaust her 
so that she could fight no longer. A thousand thoughts, 
a thousand memories, chased through her mind. 

From a point outside, above all this, she could see her¬ 
self like a woman who in panic tosses her belongings right 
and left in frantic search for something which she values 
most. 

So she, exhausting every resource of self-defence, us¬ 
ing her strength, her teeth, cajoling, entreating, threaten¬ 
ing, promising—all alike in vain—sought now in the wild 
panic of her brain for some new weapon, argument, or 
trick that possibly might save her. 

And inwardly, she vowed an awful oath that when the 
fiend had worked his will and fled, she would pursue him 
if it cost her life, until she found him, publish him to 
all the world for what he was. Then, if the Law refused 
to deal him such a penalty as he deserved, she herself 
would kill him—gladly she would see him die ridding the 
earth of such foul vermin. 

Even then it seemed strange to her that she had time 
for all these thoughts, time to vow that she would follow 
him—to think of her revenge. 

She was fighting less hard by now,—her breath was 
getting short. Fear and unwonted exertion were telling 
on her. 

Mr. Ko, the expert, Mr. Ko, the collector, was winning. 
Triumph leered at her in the narrow black eyes. Super¬ 
iority taunted her in the curl of those lips that had feasted 


268 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


on hers. A supercilious sneer lifted the thin, straight 
eyebrows until they formed a V above his nose. 

She tried now to save her strength for one final ef¬ 
fort. She would watch and when his hand relaxed if only 
for an instant, all her strength should go out in one im¬ 
ploring cry for help. 

“Ah!” he hissed, for his finger was painful where her 
teeth had bitten to the bone. “You little cat, you spit¬ 
fire, I shall now make you pay dear for so much temper. 
Some day you will apologize—you will say: T did not 
know/ Yes, I shall teach you now, now, when you are 
done with kicking and with biting. When you are too 
much out of breath to scream. Oh! I can wait. The 
night is yet young. Cat as you are, your body is beau¬ 
tiful—and you are mine.” 

Once more, inflamed by his own words, he sought her 
lips. 

Was that heavy breathing just behind her an echo of 
the fiend’s breath, or was it her own? 

Was she too losing her reason that she could hear what 
was only her own crazed imagination ? 

If that hand over her mouth would fall away for one 
second she would rend the night with her cry for help. 

Once more, and this time quite distinctly, he spoke 
unutterable things. A twig snapped. Something crashed 
down on the shoulder of Mr. Ko with such weight and 
violence that he toppled over almost dragging her with him 
as he fell. So great was her terror that she forgot to 
scream—expecting next the savage roar of the dead ti- 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 269 

ger’s mate. She was on her feet. By running for the 
hut she might yet escape. 

One stifled cry, strangled by the fierce clutch upon his 
throat, and Mr. Ko, the fastidious wearer of rings, the 
ardent, hitherto successful, collector—Mr. Ko, special 
agent of Mammon, was lifted high in air, held in the 
grasp of one who thus had tamed many a refractory 
bullock. 

“Missy,” came the deep voice of Sin Chang. “Go back 
to house; say nothing to Yisan.” 

Without a word, still too terrified to speak, Constance 
went back up the path while behind her Sin Chang crashed 
through the bushes ; over a rough stony slide, carrying 
above his head that burden which kicked and struggled 
frantically to get free. 

A deep ravine cut through by spring freshets fell away, 
two hundred feet of sheer drop, where Sin Chang stopped, 
removing from the other’s throat that awful, strangling 

grip- 

The elegant Mr. Ko was whimpering. Threat, en¬ 
treaty, promise, followed each other in breathless agony. 

Sin Chang’s great yellow teeth showed in an ugly 
grin. Sin Chang was judge and jury. The prisoner in 
the hands of the law was proven guilty. Let the Law 
take its course. Sin Chang had never, save from the 
Teacher, heard of Pity. 

The giant arms flew forward. A body shot out over 
thje chasm, then fell twisting, turning, hurtling, head 
downwards. 


270 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


One awful cry came back to the solitary figure standing 
there alone, one piercing cry of a blackened soul, black¬ 
ened by self-indulgence—and the valley lay silent, calm 
in the starlit night, as Sin Chang strode back along the 
path by which he had come. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


It was all over so suddenly—so like most of the great 
crises in our lives—that Constance was dazed. She had 
retraced the short steep path to the hut, her knees knock¬ 
ing together at every step. 

When she opened the door Yisan had looked up, in¬ 
different when she saw it was not the man who had come. 
But something in the other woman’s face, something of 
her recent agony, something of her terror, something that 
she would never outlive, told its own story. Not guilt, 
not triumph—abject terror stared forth from the woman’s 
eyes. And Yisan was glad. 

“A drink, please, anything—I am faint,” she gasped 
sinking into the nearest chair. 

Spoken in her native language, Yisan caught every 
word. “Indeed,” she laughed derisively, “you go just 
far enough to come back on the run. I know your sort. 
Faint, is it? Well, faint, and may you never-” 

So quietly had the door opened a second time that 
neither woman had heard it. Sin Chang filled its space 
with his mighty bulk. So calm, unruffled, undisturbed 
that one would swear that he had seen no excitement for a 
week. 

A table on which Yisan had been at work stood over 
271 



272 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


the trap door beneath which he kept his jugs. The table 
flew across the room and crashed against the wall breaking 
off a leg. 

Yisan, who knew that he had heard her, cowered in a 
far corner dreading the punishment she knew was sure 
to come. 

The jug of wine was lifted out. Tenderly as a woman 
he held a cup to the teacher’s lips, and bade her drink. 

The smarting warmth ran down her throat. She could 
feel it in her blood, giving her courage and a new grip 
on life. 

How could Sin Chang, giant though he were, be so calm, 
so self-possessed? What had he done with Mr. Ko? 
Locked him in the bullock’s shed? Set him adrift on 
the mountain—to meet the prowling tiger’s mate? Or— 
did she not fear far worse for him who had used the hos¬ 
pitality of Sin Chang to such an end? Did she not know 
the fierce anger of the man, that it was fiercer than the 
wounded tiger, and more dreadful? 

“I can never thank you,” she murmured. 

Sin Chang, embarrassed, shot a meaning glance at his 
wife crouching in the corner, imploring him with her 
eyes. 

“You slut,” he muttered between his teeth and went 
towards her. 

“Oh, please don’t,” Constance besought him, for she 
had seen enough of violence. It made her sick to think 
of more. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


273 

That was all. The man came humbly back to sit be¬ 
side his Teacher. 

Yisan, seeing that she had escaped the well deserved 
punishment, fled while the way was clear. 

But she gave no thanks to the guest who had saved her. 
Had not her man preferred the foreign teacher to his 
wife? Was the foreign teacher so much above her, then, 
that Sin Chang would strike or stay his hand to please 
her? 

Sin Chang owned her—but she would cheat him—as 
she had cheated him before—when the handsome Chinese 
gentleman came in and Sin Chang snored lying flat on 
his back. 

Sin Chang sat beside the teacher. His immense body 
had never seemed so enormous. He filled the room. 

Neither spoke. 

Constance was shudderingly reviewing in her mind the 
awful strain through which she had passed. Step by 
step though she had resolved a minute before to keep her 
thoughts from such awful ground, she lived again each 
incident, from the first meeting to this climax. 

How plainly now she could read the purpose back of 
every kind attention from Mr. Ko. He had found in her 
a harder problem than in Esther Landon. That diffi¬ 
culty had but whetted the collector’s appetite to possess 
her. 

Yes, it was clear enough in retrospect, so clear that 
she reproached herself for coming with him on so vague 


274 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


a mission. But it was to the house of her pupil and 
friend that he had led her. That was a clever move, 
for otherwise she would never have come. 

And at the end the cool, the self-possessed, the worldly- 
wise expert had lost his head and—and how much more? 

She wondered, but felt it unwise to ask. It might be 
better that she did not know. 

How changed in the twinkling of an eye, that cruel 
Mr. Ko who laughed at her entreaties, torturing her with 
all the art known to his fiendish brain,—and that sobbing, 
blubbering, helpless creature held aloft by the Korean 
giant like a kitten in the jaws of a tiger* 

Where was he now? Did he prowl even now peering 
in from the darkness through that small, uncurtained 
window? Was he plotting revenge, he so crafty, so re¬ 
sourceful, against the simple mountaineer who trusted 
always in his own strength, the relentless thrust with the 
long knife, or the accuracy of his rifle? 

No enemy, man or beast had yet outwitted Sin Chang. 
He could have met few in his life who were the equals 
of Ko-Yiang. And Ko-Yiang would never rest until he 
had crushed the common clod who had dared to raise 
his hand against him; who had robbed him of what, after 
weeks of effort, lay within his grasp; who, worst of all, 
hardest for the proud to bear, had humiliated him, put 
him on a plane with the lowest outcast of the coolies. 

She knew the pride that had suffered such eclipse. She 
knew the cruelty—had she not ten minutes ago been its 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


275 

helpless victim! But she did not speak. The quality of 
the silence forbade speech. 

Instead, she fastened her gaze upon the little window 
all black without, and even as she watched, suspicion grew 
to certainty in her mind. 

Ko-Yiang had met his master. He had paid the pen¬ 
alty that awaits the evil who are apprehended in the 
perpetration of their crimes. She knew instinctively that 
to the rough pupil beside her she had come to be a person 
set apart, sacred. She would not ask. She did not wish 
to know what had become of Mr. Ko. 

In this confidence she went to bed, but it was morning 
before she slept. 

At breakfast though no question was asked, the empty 
chair that faced her, the wooden plate and blue stone mug 
unclaimed asked eloquently for the guest who wore a 
prince’s clothes, a haughtier mien, and yet had conde¬ 
scended for his own purposes to use wood and stone 
ware. 

Yisan let her eyes wander from these to the American 
woman who, despite her slow speech and dawdling man¬ 
ner, had such fascination for all men, from her to Sin 
Chang eating like a hungry wolf, and then once more to 
view the empty place and wonder where the man had 
gone, and why. 

Had it aught to do with the woman’s fear and faintness 
of the night before? Why did the others sit there silent 
—had they also quarreled ? 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


276 

For this she felt little interest. The mighty hunter 
whose she was, had no charm for her. The foreign 
woman might have him and welcome. Yisan was puz¬ 
zled, and puzzled all the more when Constance having 
finished her porridge and goat’s milk, said to Sin Chang: 

“And now, my very dear friend, how am I to get back 
to Taiden? I am done with the East. As soon as I 
can get passage I shall go back to my own country, to 
the people whom I know, whom I can understand.” 

“Does not the missioner’s daughter know Sin Chang?” 
the deep voice rumbled, reverting to his original manner 
with her. 

“Bless your heart, yes,” came the fervent answer. 
“And never, at home or in foreign land, have I known a 
better, truer friend.” 

She put out her hand and caught his, enclosing two 
fingers in her grasp. He raised his great head from the 
bowl before him to look into the blue depths behind which 
dwelt the Teacher’s soul. 

Two great tears fell upon the woman’s hand. 

Yisan who had seen all, heard all, was bewildered. 
So few words had been spoken. Neither had mentioned 
the handsome Chinese gentleman. 

The American had said she would go home to her own 
country. It must be that Sin Chang cared very much 
indeed for the American woman. She was to him as a 
goddess whom one worships with prayers on bamboo 
sticks or the long paper streamers that keep sickness from 
the door. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 277 

“But ten miles down the valley,” the big man said, 
“is a car that stands upon the siding. It is loaded with 
skins for this day’s train to pick up and carry on to 
Fusan. Thither I will conduct you, but already is no 
time to be lost.” 

Yisan watched them down the steep path, down through 
the winding valley until a turn carried the pair riding 
black bullocks out of her sight. 

Beside her stood the resolute Ooloong, her protector in 
his master’s absence. 

The picture of the two, so wild, so dark, so graceful 
standing there, so much alike; Constance would carry viv¬ 
idly this picture in her memory for many a day to come. 

There was no farewell from Sin Chang. She had 
known how that would be. 

From the rear platform of her train she watched the 
towering figure, the little bullocks waiting patiently to 
be turned towards home. The little shed that served for 
station grew indistinct, blended with the trees, was gone. 

Only the great white figure remained, motionless, watch¬ 
ing the little smoke cloud and the vanishing dot beneath 
it. Eye to eye, despite the growing distance, till neither 
could say, “It is gone.” Such had their strange friend¬ 
ship been from the first. Such it would be when they 
should meet again. 

Her thoughts were company enough on the journey. 
If Mr. Ko had really met his death at Sin Chang’s hands 
she was glad that she knew nothing of it. And, if as 
would be almost certain, should so wealthy a man dis- 


278 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


appear, investigation should lead to Sin Chang and to her, 
—she was firmly resolved that no such interview as hers 
with Ko-Yiang had ever taken place. 

To tell of it could do no good to anyone. It had, 
therefore, never been. 

After supper, when their host had gone to the yard 
to dress the tiger's skin, Mr. Ko had sauntered down the 
path towards the gully. He had sauntered down, and next 
morning she had left. 

There had been no argument, no quarrel, no difference 
with Sin Chang. They were his guests, and he a gener¬ 
ous host. 

She had it all reviewed a dozen times. If there should 
be any suspicion of foul play—she was on the spot, and 
had seen no possible suggestion of foul play. She shud¬ 
dered as she thought, if Mr. Ko had really met his death, 
how fair it was, how far from what actual justice could 
call foul play. 

With so much to think of and to plan, the journey to 
Yokohama seemed short. 

She got a room at the Oriental Palace. It struck her 
suddenly, after she got settled in her room, that she was 
now utterly alone. She hadn’t a friend, an acquaintance 
in that city. She was going home to a land where she 
had neither kith nor kin. 

It was mid-forenoon. From her window she could 
see the peaceful ships at anchor. There was one of the 
big Canadian-Pacific boats at the pier getting ready to 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


279 

sail at once. Jinrickshas from the Grand Hotel trotted 
by with passengers. 

That woman must have all her baggage with her! 

A knock at the door startled her. The boy had brought 
a card, and explained: 

“Missy down waiting in lobby.” 

He sucked in his breath with a hissing sound as she 
read the card: 

“Mrs. Peter Landon”— 1 The “Mrs. Peter” had been 
crossed out and “Esther” written over them. 

She had barely time, while the boy went to fetch her 
visitor, to collect her thoughts, to decide how much to tell, 
how much to omit. 

Esther, beautifully dressed, in one of the many cos¬ 
tumes contributed by Mr. Ko, looked ill. She was pale, 
her lips were white, great dark crescents disfigured her 
below the eyes. 

Tense with repressed emotion she was the first to 
speak: “I saw your name on the register—Have you 
heard? About Peter? No? Well, I’m crushed, heart¬ 
broken. Everyone will say it was all my fault—and I 
suppose they are right.” 

Then she poured forth the shocking story of her 
journey home, her discovery of Peter’s coffin; her hast¬ 
ily formed plan, as she expressed it, to go crawling back 
home where she wasn’t wanted. 

“My dear,” she added in confidence, “I have written to 
Ko Ko at Shanghai telling him—everything. I thought 


28 o 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


it would hardly be fair to rush off until he had had a 
chance to—well, you see, poor Peter’s affairs were in an 
awful mess, and a man with his influence might get 
something out of them. I couldn’t. Those people at the 
mine told me there was nothing to get. So I wrote— 
Where did you leave Mr. Ko? I thought you went with 
him.” 

“Started with him,” Constance corrected her, “but when 
I found that he had no settled plan for helping my be¬ 
loved Korea, that he was merely intending to—to try 
things, I left him, and came directly here.” 

This seemed to satisfy Esther as an explanation. She 
only asked: “And did he go back to Shanghai ?” 

To which Constance could truthfully answer: 

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask him.” 

“I didn’t put on black,” Esther vouchsafed after a 
pause. “How could I with loads of beautiful clothes in 
colors, and you know how quickly things get out of style. 
Poor old Peter never cared tuppence about mourning 
anyway—but—when I saw that cofffn—that he was dead, 
dead and buried—or almost. Of course, that putting the 
coffln above the ground is the same thing.” 

Here Esther genuinely broke down and cried. 

Constance looked on in sympathetic silence, knowing 
nothing to say that would not sound banal. She liked 
Esther better in this sorrowing mood. She seemed more 
human, less a spoiled child, for she was crying, and she 
was repentant as far as repentance was possible for so 
selfish a woman. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


281 


“■It's the first time,” dabbing her eyes with a moist 
wisp of handkerchief, “the first time I’ve been able to 
speak to a real person about it— Poor Peter!” 

Here a flood of tears, and sobs that shook her. 

Constance who had once longed to tell her what she 
thought of her, was moved to pity: 

“I’m very sorry, I think I know what you are suffer- 

• _ >> 

m g. 

Esther ceased crying to look into the other’s eyes. 
One might mean so much by that last statement. Sat¬ 
isfied that Constance was not sarcastic she melted still 
further: 

“If only I hadn’t been so mean that afternoon when he 
came on us suddenly in the Garden at Shanghai. Oh! 
and you were nice to him. You brought him along and 
acted as if—as if you really liked him.” 

“But I really did like him. I’ve always liked that 
gentle, patient, self-sacrificing sort. They are so rare. 
And so quick to see everything.” 

“Yes, he was all that,” his widow testified, “and I was 
selfish, and that makes people cruel. Oh, if I could 
only tell him I didn’t mean it!” 

“And Jerry,” Esther asked, “did he go back home 
or is he still in Shanghai?” 

“I don’t know. He just disappeared.” 

“Well, I’ll write both places today. You know, Jerry 
and I were—rather thick—a long way back.” 

“He told me he wanted to marry you.” 

Esther nodded and looked pleased. 


282 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


“A man could hardly go beyond that to show what’s in 
his mind,” Constance said helping the other. It was a 
little early for the widow to begin counting her chances, 
but many have done the same. 

“I should have taken him then,” Esther said, still cry¬ 
ing a little, for emotions demand a vent. “Do you think 
he still—what I mean—do you think he is interested in 
me now?” 

Constance nodded assent, but was somewhat taken aback 
at Esther’s: 

“I have always thought so.” 

Satisfied with this reply she rose to go. 

“I hope you don’t think me heartless talking this way. 
Really, I’m not heartless—I feel as deeply as any woman 
would who had been thoughtless about a dear, good man. 
When I talk about—other things I’m only saying what 
a more careful woman would think but be too cowardly 
to express in words. Good-by, dear. My friends on the 
Bluff expect me at— Good Heavens, what is that ?” 

The room in which they stood was rocking to and fro 
like a small boat in an angry sea. With both hands 
Esther seized Constance Farley, clinging to her arm, a 
child hugging her protector. The floor beneath their 
feet bent and cracked with a loud splitting sound. The 
walls were tottering. Louder sounds drowned out the 
warning shouts heard from the street. 

The two women swayed in each other’s arms, swayed 
with the rocking of the house. 

The noise inside and out had become a frightful roar. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 283 

Bright day had gone. It was night; dark, awful night. 
The air was filled with choking dust. 

One crash more awful than the last, and they were 
falling, falling with floors and plastered walls, falling with 
the world which was going down in horror and in dark¬ 
ness. 

Falling,—darkness,—oblivion. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


It was always cool and shady, a comfortable place to 
wait, in the lobby of the Oriental Palace where the rooms 
above from two stories opened upon galleries, all the 
centre open to the roof. 

Jerry picked up the Kobe Chronicle for news of sail¬ 
ing dates. His friend Westgate hadn’t yet arrived. A 
few men and women, idle like himself, were reading or 
writing letters to friends at home, letters full of rhap¬ 
sody, letters expressed in superlative adjectives, the word 
“wonderful” being brutally overworked, the promise end¬ 
ing each letter: “I will tell you all about it when we 
meet.” 

Jerry smiled as he pictured to himself exactly what 
those letters contained. As for the promise to tell, he 
knew that it would never be fulfilled because people at 
home are bored to death with descriptions of sights and 
scenes. But the letters were being written, the writers 
chuckling, as they read them over, to think how the 
friends at home would enjoy those “I wish you could see” 
descriptions. 

How little Jerry or the writers realized that not one of 
those letters so fervently indited would ever be read by 
anyone! 


284 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


285 

“Hello, Mr. Householder, I hope I’ve not kept you 
waiting.” It was Westgate, ten minutes ahead of time. 

The two men chatted awhile of the new business rela¬ 
tion, then Jerry suggested adjournment to the bar to 
baptize the newborn with due ceremony and oblation. 

Both were agreed that whiskey and soda was the ap¬ 
propriate medium. 

The bar boy set forth his best bottle and two tumblers. 
He uncorked with a pop a bottle of soda and was in the 
act of placing it before the two Englishmen when the 
place—the floor on which he stood—rose up swaying vi¬ 
olently. The big electric fan came crashing from the ceil¬ 
ing within a foot of the bar. 

The whole ceiling followed it, the walls seemed to open 
outwards. 

“Earthquake!” Jerry shouted, but couldn’t hear his own 
voice for the din, the splitting, cracking, crashing roar 
that filled the long room, that repeated itself from every 
angle, that thundered from outside, that came half- 
smothered from a distance. 

All this was so sudden that they could not flee, could 
only say “which way ?” and all the house was down about 
their heads. 

Jerry, quick to act, had raised a heavy, leather covered 
chair over his head to protect him. Just in time, for 
in a second he was down, pinned by great, broken beams, 
by floors and roof heaped high above the strong cover¬ 
ing of the upturned chair which formed a tent over his 
head and chest. 


286 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

A fearful weight was on his legs, he was smothering in 
dust. 

Why was it so dark ? A moment ago the room had been 
bright with noonday sunlight. Now it was black as mid¬ 
night. He struggled to get up, but his left arm was 
useless, it had no feeling, the fingers were numb. 

With all his strength he kicked, writhed and twisted, 
wriggled until his head and shoulders came clear of the 
heavy chair above them. 

Then he sat up. Things were still dropping all about 
him. 

A long way off he could see a gleam of light through 
an opening the size of a half crown. 

“Where was I? Oh, yes, that must be the window/’ 

He got to his feet, keeping that light in sight, and stum¬ 
bled towards it, tripping, clambering, lurching over what 
lay in the darkness. 

Voices were calling. Cries for help came up from his 
very feet. Someone shouted in Japanese: 

“Monsieur Cotte! Cotte San! Tell where is it you 
have fallen!” 

A woman’s voice, an Englishwoman’s besought some¬ 
one to lift this from her. 

A man called upon his God to save him. 

Smoke came filtering through the dust, the pungent, 
acrid smoke of burning wood. 

He had gained the little opening whence came the light. 
It was the window that opened from the bar into Water 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


287 


Street, a large window, the sash all gone, and narrow 
Water Street was filled with masonry and debris. 

A figure crawled beside him on its hands and knees, 
begging for help. The voice was Westgate’s. Jerry 
stooped and with his right arm helped the man to rise. 

“Come on,” he shouted, “through the window here.” 

Westgate was badly hurt, but Jerry tugged and putting 
his heart into it got through, still dragging his friend by 
the hand. Westgate was now half out. Again the whole 
earth rocked, the upper half of the window frame came 
down throwing Jerry face forward on the wreckage in 
the street, but not before he had seen poor Westgate cut in 
two by the falling mass. 

Almost stunned as he was, Jerry Householder was at 
his best in any emergency. The wild man knew only the 
present crisis wherein his mind worked quickly with but 
one end in view, not self-preservation only, but the im¬ 
pulse to save life. 

Westgate was gone. What of these cries for help, 
these moaning, piteous cries of women? 

And now arose the roar of a typhoon that caught up 
the dust clouds to send them whirling on, bringing other, 
denser clouds to fill their place; that howled, until it 
drowned the lesser cries of men, that shrieked like all 
the furies through the narrow streets and shattered build¬ 
ings ; that fanned the flames started in a thousand places 
at once converting the city into one vast, seething furnace. 
Once when the wind, lifting for an instant the curtain 


288 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


of night, revealed a fragment of the awful scene, Jerry 
made out, not fifty feet away, a man who struggled to 
drag free someone whose hands he held. 

Jerry knew the man. He and his pretty blonde wife 
had come with him on the Australia from Shanghai. 
He jumped, eager to lend the only useful hand he had. 

“For God’s sake,” panted the husband, his forehead 
black and dripping beads of sweat. 

“If you could move this from my chest,” the woman 
from underneath the pile of wreckage directed, where¬ 
upon Jerry, putting all his strength into it lifted, pried, 
pulled and tried to lift again, but could not so much as 
stir the awful load that pinned her down. 

The fire by now was burning furiously all about them, 
the heat had become unbearable. Two men came hurry¬ 
ing, stumbling, to where the husband stood, still fight¬ 
ing, adding to his own efforts a heart-rending supplica¬ 
tion to his God, his Heavenly Father, that He who ruled 
the Universe would send them help! 

The two friends tore his hands from those he held 
and would have held till death had taken the husband with 
the wife. 

The poor man fought them off until they overpowered 
and dragged him away. 

“Why throw away another life?” they said—and Jerry 
saw that even now the wretched man was singed, his eye¬ 
brows gone, his hair already smoking. 

Those pitiful hands still outstretched, still pleaded for 
help. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 289 

Jerry took them in his own. She might not know in 
so faint a light. 

From under the wreckage came a faint voice: 

“Go, John, for my sake—Go!” 

He squeezed her hands in his, and she, quite satisfied, 
returned the pressure, then let him go. 

No one would ever know, no one suspect this final 
gallantry that gave to the dying woman the sure consola¬ 
tion that she it was who forced her John to leave her. 

Then Jerry ran, ran for his very life, through sheets 
of flame and blinding smoke, over prostrate bodies that 
clutched at his ankles, that uttered awful wails, the pit¬ 
eous wails of those whose doom it is to burn to death. 

He came out by the canal hoping to save himself by 
jumping in. The sight that met his eyes was more than 
he could bear, more horrible, because the light was bet¬ 
ter here, than the horrors that he had left behind. 
Thousands who had sought protection in the narrow 
stream were cooked alive, the water almost boiling, al¬ 
ready choked with the bodies of the dead. 

Again he fled, now half crazed by the sight of suffer¬ 
ing, the sounds of agony added to his own exhaustion 
and the pain that scorched his eyes. 

As he ran along the Bund, or what had been the Bund, 
the ground beneath his feet shook, heaved in great waves 
like the sea in storm. Several times he fell headlong, 
and once the earth opened in a fearful chasm, swallow¬ 
ing a little group who ran just before him—opened and 
then closed again. 


290 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


Surely anything so monstrous as this must be a hid¬ 
eous dream. No, the pain in his burnt eyes told him a 
dream could never equal this. 

Over great heaps and piles of wreck he climbed and 
jumped, his one hope lying now in the Australia riding 
there at her dock. A bull, half crushed beneath a piece 
of brick wall, kicked and bellowed, and lay still. A little 
child, a doll-like Japanese, reached up and seized his hand, 
the left, that hung half helpless at his side. The feeling 
had come back in his fingers. He had forgotten how he 
gave it to John’s wife when it came back to life as she 
went out of it. 

The little child and Jerry Householder stumbling slowly 
together went towards the dock until a woman—it might 
have been the child’s mother—took it from him. 

He was on the long concrete pier, a cracked, broken, 
distorted pier, its sheds burning, the ships beside it mak¬ 
ing frantic efforts to get clear. To reach the Australia 
was impossible. He jumped aboard the nearest lighter, 
but almost as he gained her the fire had seized her and 
she was burning. So onto the next and the next he leaped 
until the flames had reached this also. 

The sea was now his only hope. A little launch came 
puffing by. He dived overboard just in time to catch her 
rail. Everything was blurred, and through the dust and 
smoke all details were lost. 

A Japanese hauled him aboard. He lay limp in the 
bottom of the boat—only five minutes of respite—then 
they landed him on a beach. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


291 

He looked about him, the water was filled with men 
and women standing up to their necks in the sea. But 
Jerry Householder and inaction were strangers. Scrambl¬ 
ing over the Bund he found himself where he had started, 
directly in front of the Oriental Palace. On the Water 
Street side the wreck of the hotel was a blazing mass of 
fire. On the farther side it was just beginning to burn. 

Natives were coming by thousands seeking the water 
front, driven by miles of burning houses, the holocaust 
from which those who lingered found no possible escape. 
Each time the earth shook afresh new seams would open, 
tumbling the burning masses as a giant tosses firebrands 
with a fork. 

The air was filled with sparks, with blazing embers 
borne on the mighty, rushing wind, and every minute the 
place grew hotter, till it seemed the world had spun into 
its final dissolution. Despite the smoke and dust, the fire 
gave such bright light that he could see his way far 
better than at first, could see a hundred bodies all about 
him, writhing in the agony of frightful wounds, some 
burned and black, still others motionless—dead. 

Those flocking from the city no longer carried their 
treasures in their arms, enough for them if they could 
save their children and themselves. 

He saw a baby on its mother’s back burst into flame 
and sprang to save the two by wrapping them in his coat. 
Before he reached them both were beyond help. 

Something, some vague feeling that friends might still 
be there, drove him once more to the ruins of the hotel. 


292 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


The front wall, broken into big fragments of masonry, 
had fallen out, directly across the Bund, leaving compara¬ 
tively clear the large dining room. 

Up from the go-down beneath this room, a man’s head 
appeared, the grizzled head of the old head waiter who 
for years had served the house so well that every guest 
remembered him, as Jerry did. The man, half dazed, was 
trying to climb out before the heat and smoke should 
stifle him. 

Jerry’s strong arms pulled him up, set his face towards 
the sea, and then had other work to do, work that needed 
courage, quickness, for the fire was coming fiercer every 
minute. 

When Jerry stooped to lift the old man from his 
shelter, the firelight showed, blackened, soiled, half buried 
in the debris, a woman’s skirt, soft China silk, striped in 
blue and white and brown; an unusual pattern, one that 
he had seen and would never forget—for Constance Far¬ 
ley wore it the last time he had seen her in Shanghai. 

A woman wore it now, or what had been a woman, her 
head and shoulders buried in the dirt and wreckage, a 
girder across her chest, so long and deep a girder that 
when Jerry tried to move it he thought once more of that 
woman left to burn, to burn as hundreds of others even 
now were burning all about him. 

And now, as then, the fire was racing to defeat him. 
The woman was dead, but he must at least uncover her 
face to see if by any chance,—on his hands and knees he 
tore madly at the loose mass that covered the head. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


293 


Splintered boards, fragments of plastered wall, the dirt 
of broken floors—could he never see that face! His eyes 
smarted and burned in their sockets. 

There it was at last! There were shouts and cries for 
help, the screams of those who burned, piteous wails that 
grew fainter as other cries drowned them, and the steady 
roar of fire in the wind never ceasing, relentless as death 
itself. But Jerry heard none of it. 

There on his knees in all that wreck, the fire now so 
close that his own life seemed thrown away by staying, he 
held the woman’s head in his two hands, and kissed her' 
lips. 

Tears from his hot aching eyes ran down his face, 
leaving their trace of white on his blackened cheeks. 
He spoke her name, “Constance,” again and again, un¬ 
conscious that in all that din a shout would not be heard. 

Great firebrands were falling in a shower, but what 
were fires or death to him who in so short a space had 
been through Hell and found it nothing, nothing beside 
Remorse! 


CHAPTER XXX 


After that awful fall into oblivion, how long after 
neither knew, the two women found themselves side by- 
side in a heap of broken beams and splintered boards. 
•It was dark. What little air they had was suffocating 
with dust and heat. 

Esther raised herself on one elbow, then sat up. She 
kicked away something that held her feet, kicked with 
the desperation of panic, was free, stood up, and began 
to scramble to where voices were shouting: “The sea, 
the sea, this way!” 

Then her companion’s voice checked her: “I cannot 
get up—something across my chest is holding me.” 

“Kick,” Esther called back. “Something held me, but 
I kicked it out of the way.” 

“My legs are free,” came the answer, “but this is heavy 
—across my chest—perhaps you could move it.” 

“I’ll send back help,” Esther promised, hurrying on 
towards safety. 

A little while and help would come, Constance rea¬ 
soned, lying still to save her strength. A little while, a 
longer while, and no help came. Only the crackling and 
the roar of fire coming nearer and nearer. She struggled 
now with every ounce of strength she had, writhed and 
294 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


295 


twisted, pushed and tugged at that huge weight that held 
her fast. If she could only feel it meve; if something 
could be made to stir she could have hope. As well 
push against a granite cliff. 

Then she called “Help!” and waited for an answering 
voice. Voices were not far off, but none gave heed to 
hers. Meantime at each fresh shaking of the earth the 
pile in which she lay grew deeper. 

And now the fire had come so near that she could see 
the shattered walls and people moving not far off. She 
gathered all her force and sent it out in one great scream, 
one agonizing cry. The only answer was a trembling of 
the mass of which she was a part, such rocking to and 
fro that heaps of dirt seemed emptied from the sky to 
fall upon her. It filled her mouth, stopping a cry half 
born. It shut her eyes. The light was gone. She hoped 
that Death would not be slow, but merciful and sudden. 
And as she dared to hope—she knew no more. 

Lying thus, Jerry Householder had found the body, rec¬ 
ognized it by the fluttering skirt. He could not leave 
it there to burn. The thought was intolerable. On his 
knees he began clawing at the debris with both hands. 
Directly under her it gave a little; bit by bit it fell into 
some hole that was below. The go-down from which he 
had helped the old head waiter. That must be just be¬ 
neath this heap. With that discovery came new courage. 
If he could only dislodge enough before the fire came! 
Slowly, inch by inch, the head and shoulders were drop¬ 
ping away from that hopelessly immovable girder. 


296 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


The fire was burning now so near that Jerry’s clothes 
gave out a sickening smoke. His face was blistering as he 
drew her back, feet foremost, underneath the beam, out 
from the tangled wreck. Gathering her body in his arms, 
he staggered through death and ruins—in the panic 
stricken crowd that crossed the Bund. 

There was hardly room enough to stand, so thick was 
the crowd that filled the beach. 

Jerry, with that inert form hanging over his shoulder, 
waded out until the water reached his neck. 

His whole body was one smarting wound. His eyes 
were hot balls of fire, but he could see the sheets of flame 
that lit the harbor from the blazing oil floating down from 
the huge oil tanks. He could watch half the night long 
with countless others to ward off the flying embers. 

Out in the water the woman’s body floated; he held it 
in one arm as one would carry a child. So the long 
night wore on in ceaseless vigil, but to sights and sounds, 
to horrors such as he had never dreamed, he was both 
blind and deaf. 

Twice he must have fainted, for he plunged forward 
still clutching his precious burden, and would have 
drowned but for the kindly help of those beside him, piti¬ 
ful towards the foreigner so careful of his dead. 

At last, worn out towards midnight he was dimly con¬ 
scious of English voices, gentle, welcome voices. Some 
one took his burden from him—seemed to be lifting him 
also from the water. 

He remembered saying “Drink,” for it was twelve hours 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


297 

since the first devastating quake and not a drop of water 
in all that time. 

Some kind hand held a glass to his parched lips and 
he drank. Then every sense went out. 

“This one is badly burned. We think his eyes are 
gone. ,, It was a strange man’s voice. Jerry tried to open 
his eyes to prove that the voice was wrong if it spoke of 
him. His eyes refused to open. All was blank before 
him. Before he could speak the sound of footsteps leav¬ 
ing sounded on a wooden floor. He put out his hand. 
He was lying on a wooden floor. 

But what had happened ? Where was he ? The Grand 
Hotel ? 

Little by little it filtered back through his exhausted 
brain, the sudden sharp disaster, the darkness, fire—fa¬ 
tigue, anguish of mind, intolerable thirst. And last came 
the remembrance of that body half buried in the dirt! 

Footsteps again. This time he called out: “Where am 
I, please? I cannot see. Is it night?” 

A woman’s voice answered, a tired but sympathetic 
voice, “It is five o’clock in the afternoon and you are 
on 'A’ deck of the Australia 

“Afternoon ? But I cannot see, not even the daylight.” 

“Lie quiet, please, and I’ll get Captain Robinson di¬ 
rectly. He’s close by.” 

Then the captain’s reassuring voice: “Can I do any¬ 
thing for you, man? Are you in pain?” 

“Not pain now, but darkness. Do you know me, Cap¬ 
tain—Jerry Householder?” 


298 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


“Householder? Right! You’ve crossed three times 
with me. We must do something for this man better 
than the bare deck.” 

Jerry again put out his hand to verify this statement and 
touched someone lying close beside him. 

“We are crowded with refugees,” the captain explained. 
“You remember we had a full list of passengers. After 
the worst of the quake was over we sent out every one 
of the boats to pick up refugees.” 

“Your crew must have worked-” 

“Not only the crew, my dear man; our stewards, every 
man aboard including no end of passengers volunteered 
and worked all night. They brought in twenty-four hun¬ 
dred, of whom less than one third are Europeans. More 
than two thirds are Chinese and Japanese.” 

Troubled as he was because of the darkness, Jerry 
couldn’t fail to notice the brave captain’s characteristic 
modesty and reticence concerning his own, the leading 
part. 

“And now,” he asked, “are we still in the harbor?” 

“Thanks to the courage of a Dutch captain we are— 
Ah! here is a drink of water for you. Our supply will 
hardly hold out for another four days with so many 
aboard.” Some one raised his head to give him a drink. 

“Thanks, very much,” he said. “Is the captain there ?” 

“Right here,” the captain answered. 

“Then do go on, please, about the brave Dutchman.” 
Jerry was fighting off all thought of his own darkness. 

“Well, you may recall that the freighter, Steel Navig- 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


299 


at or, was directly astern of us. The first shake was so 
violent, as I stood on the bridge, I saw the land coming 
towards us in waves eight feet high. Next, the sea 
rose, like a storm and we were dashed up against the 
pier and one of our propellers was fouled by the Steel 
Navigator’s anchor chains. 

“In that plight we couldn’t move. We must have 
caught fire from the burning dock sheds but for the brave 
Captain of a Dutch ship. She was loaded with high ex¬ 
plosives, but he didn’t stop to think of the danger. He 
towed us out into the stream.” 

“Fine work,” Jerry exclaimed. “My God, a real man!” 

“Here’s the doctor,” said the same, gentle woman’s 
voice. 

“Doctor,” Jerry said, turning his head toward the sound, 
“you are overworked. Just let me lie.” He was afraid 
of what the doctor might discover. 

The doctor and Captain Robinson exchanged a glance 
that spoke in definite terms. 

The man lying before them was swathed in bandages, 
his hair almost all burned off. Far worse—for the burns 
were not serious—they would heal—the first examination 
had indicated complete loss of sight. 

“It is Sunday afternoon,” the doctor said, “I think we’ve 
neglected you long enough. I’ll just have a look at these 
blisters”—and with skilful fingers he began undoing the 
bandages. 

“The last I remember,” Jerry began, then stopped short. 
What right had he to inflict his own troubles, his anxiety 


300 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

for the beloved dead at such a time as this! Was it not 
enough, more than enough, to give one’s thought and 
effort to the living? 

No, he would keep his grief to himself. Her body, so 
carefully guarded for hours in the darkness of day and 
night, had been washed away when his strength had 
failed. At least, it hadn’t been left there to burn in a 
heap of rubbish. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


“It's wonderful what a cup of tea does for you.” 
This sentiment Jerry uttered with conviction and no little 
gratitude, after a meagre repast eaten with such ravenous 
appetite that the doctor remarked: 

“There can’t be much wrong with a man who eats like 
that.” 

Only ten minutes before Jerry had made the discovery 
that his head was bandaged. This, then, might possibly 
account for his total darkness. 

Of course he couldn’t open his eyes with bandages over 
them, and of course he couldn’t even see the light. Steady 
on! He might not be blind. A man mustn’t lose his 
nerve in any case. Think of all the fellows he had seen 
in the war, crippled, shot to pieces, blinded—who had kept 
their heads up, held on. That’s pluck, good British pluck ! 
Thus had he reasoned with himself, and thus had he been 
right in ascribing much of his better feeling to a cup of 
tea. 

How he had slept! Gradually it had come back to 
him, that Hell through which he had passed. It was 
Saturday at noon when he met poor old Westgate at the 
Oriental Palace—Saturday noon! 

301 


302 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


So all that Inferno was in the afternoon and evening 
—though it had been as dark as midnight. 

And now someone had said it was late Sunday after¬ 
noon. No wonder he felt rested, was anxious to be up. 
He must have slept twelve hours at least. Constance! 
How suddenly it had come—that knowledge that all along 
he had loved her! 

It was the pattern of that skirt, her skirt, that had 
caught his eyes, but it went back of that. 

The woman up in the window looking across the harbor, 
too far back in the room for him to recognize her. Hadn’t 
he been startled at the time by her resemblance to Con¬ 
stance ? Wasn’t that at the back of his mind when, after 
saving himself, he went straight back there looking—well 
looking in case any one—yes! It was all plain enough. 
Something had impelled him. 

That something was love, such love as he hadn’t sus¬ 
pected until, uncovering that face, he had found it Con¬ 
stance. How petty his jealousy now that he saw it in its 
true light! 

Suspicion had led him to be cruel and cold at the very 
moment when she had needed him most. What if he had 
trusted her, had shown his trust that day when he had 
turned his back upon her. Instead of going with Mr. Ko 
she would have come to him with the story of Mr. Ko’s 
fanciful scheme. He also might have been deceived but 
that didn’t much matter. Mr. Ko had misled her. Never, 
never in the world would Constance Farley have gone with 
him anywhere for the pleasure of his company. That 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


303 


he could have bought her, as he had bought Esther, was 
alike inconceivable. 

And in face of such patent facts—he, Jerry House¬ 
holder, had been governed, not by his admiration or his 
love, but by that base emotion which dominates the tom¬ 
cat, which causes the male of animals to seek the death 
of all other males. He might have saved her. He had 
stood by, letting her go to her death. It was all so clear 
now that she was gone. It had seemed so suspicious, so 
murky at the time. 

He had been worrying about his sight. The thought of 
helpless blindness, the fear of it, the almost sure convic¬ 
tion of it, had brought great beads of perspiration to his 
forehead. Now he wondered why he had given a thought 
to anything so trivial. What mattered it whether Jerry 
Householder could see or not? Those Irish eyes, as 
Esther had called them, Constance’s eyes, were closed for¬ 
ever in death. 

As soon as might be, without embarrassment to these 
kind friends on the Australia, he would step overboard 
and end it all. No one would suspect suicide, but better 
suicide than darkness, dependence, despair. 

Strength had come back to him. He sat up unsup¬ 
ported, would have got upon his feet but for the knowledge 
that others were all about him on the deck. 

So he sat, hugging his knees, waiting for what might 
come, caring little what it might be—for she was gone, 
and there could be nothing worth while in life for the 
man who had deliberately turned his back to Opportunity. 


304 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


To the murmur of voices, the sighs, the groans, the 
words of encouragement and cheer that constituted the 
life of the ship, he was deaf. 

Over and over in his mind he rehearsed the recent 
months since his casual visit to Sin Chang, the Korean 
mountaineer, had brought him to Constance, that memor¬ 
able day in Seoul. When had he fallen in love with her ? 

Working backwards from the awful revelation after her 
death he could see how his interest in her at every step 
in their acquaintance proved love at first sight. 

That dimly lighted room off the little courtyard where 
he had first seen her. The slow grace with which she 
turned her shapely head at the sound of Sin Chang’s 
deep, rumbling voice. The cigarette held as only she 
could hold a cigarette. The casual, indifferent glance be¬ 
stowed upon him. To be sure, he was not looking his 
best at the time. It all came back, poignantly vivid. 

Ah, but later he could console himself with visions 
when she had revealed at least an interest in him. There 
were times when the four had been together in Shang¬ 
hai, when Esther was in one of her sharp moods, when 
Ko-Yiang was inexplicable—and Constance more than 
once had by a glance exchanged whole sentences with 
him. Her look had assured him that she trusted him. 
He had known then. Why, why in Heaven’s name had 
he stood aloof? 

“The sun is getting down; I think I may trust you in 
this light to try those eyes. You mustn’t expect too much 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


305 

of them after what they’ve been through.” Thus the 
doctor, as he loosened Jerry’s bandages. 

Jerry was on his feet now. Despite his recent self- 
communion, his decision that it mattered nothing, his heart 
was pounding so that he heard every stroke. His hand 
found the rail, and he held on by that. “Which way am 
I facing?” he asked. 

“Directly towards the land. As the ship swings, you 
face what was the heart of the city.” 

The bandage was off. With both hands now he braced 
himself for what was to come. He thought of the pris¬ 
oner at the bar standing to hear sentence pronounced by 
the court. If he didn’t open his eyes for another minute, 
by just so much would his sentence be deferred. Grad¬ 
ually he would let them open, sparing himself what dis¬ 
appointment he could, as a cautious skater trying thin 
ice. Light! He could see that it was no longer dark. 

Upon that, caution went to the winds. What was cau¬ 
tion to him? Had caution and Jerry Householder ever 
been bedfellows? With wide open eyes he gazed to¬ 
wards the land. Could he see, or was that waste before 
him the picture of his imagination? 

Smoking, smouldering ruins to right, to left, down by 
the water’s edge, far, far back—up to the hills that hold 
the city half encircled. All ruins, devastation, dilapidated 
walls here and there tottering on a fragment of founda¬ 
tion, for the most part flat, dreary waste, rubbish in heaps, 
all hot, giving off the sickening smell of burnt bodies. 


306 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

But it was there; he was seeing it; his eyes had not been 
destroyed! 

He started to proclaim his great good fortune, to shout 
for the joy of it. Then the blighting destruction where 
had been the beauty of Yokohama checked him. He 
could not speak, could only turn from the broken, tumbled 
mass of raised land which had been the Bluff, to the 
foreign business quarter and back again to the canal in 
search of one familiar landmark—but he turned in vain. 

Far over on his right the newly erected building of the 
Electric Company stood unharmed, a simple concrete and 
steel commercial structure. 

Modern banking offices, government buildings, big gran¬ 
ite banks and shipping houses—all had gone with the 
pretty, flimsy lattice work of the native quarter. 

Evening was approaching. Thousands still poked 
among the smoking wrecks of home or office for traces 
of loved ones or of treasures. 

These things Jerry saw in that first sweep of his re¬ 
stored vision. Then instinctively his eyes sought the spot 
on the beach where he had held the body of his beloved, 
to lose it only with his own consciousness. Perhaps even 
now, if he could get ashore—unless the tide had carried 
it out. He shivered, turning away from the awful de¬ 
molition, the crushed out life, the frightful end of Yoko¬ 
hama. 

“I'm quite all right/’ he said to the man and woman 
standing next to him, then recognizing the man who was 
holding his recently removed bandage as the doctor, he 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 307 

added: “Thanks to you, sir, and to a most sympathetic 
nurse. ,, 

He never heard their later comment after he had gone: 

How cool that man was! Nothing to say when he 
thought he was blind. No surprise when he found he was 
not.” 

But they little knew what things were seething in his 
mind, things that made his sight for the moment seem 
unimportant. 

Every inch of space on the ship was occupied. She 
was a great floating hospital. He heard talk of putting 
back to Kobe for food and water, a run of three hundred 
and fifty miles. 

Tokyo was so badly hurt that stragglers were beginning 
to come in from there, having covered twenty miles on 
foot. 

All about him the only talk aside from injuries was 
the extent of the damage. 

It had ruined Kamakura, forty miles to the south. 
Some said the island of Oshima with its lofty volcano 
had disappeared. 

In Yokohama was not a handful of rice, nor a drop 
of water. There was no transportation, the rails de¬ 
stroyed, trains toppled over into ditches. 

Night was coming—night without a light, without po¬ 
lice protection, without a roof or a bed for one of the 
thousands who, despite the great hegira, still remained. 

Thus it was when Jerry Householder went ashore in 
the next launch—a tall, grimy figure dressed in tattered 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


308 

rags of clothing, hatless, coatless, his strong face show¬ 
ing through its dirt a purpose that would brook no in¬ 
terference, listen to no argument. 

Afterwards he might admit that the living had de¬ 
manded more of him, of every man, than any tardy tri¬ 
bute to the dead. Now Jerry Householder saw but one 
image. Towards that he went. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


Every pier was so broken that an attempt to traverse 
one was to run the risk of death in one of the deep fissures 
that yawned at uncertain intervals everywhere. 

The launch was run in as near the shore as floating 
debris would allow; the men leapt overboard waist deep 
and waded ashore. 

Jerry had to push through a dozen dead bodies. All 
but one were Japanese, but it made him realize in an 
instant how hard the task that he had set himself. 

For the third time he made his way to the Oriental. 
He was able even to locate the very spot from which he 
had extricated her. 

Dead were lying all about, some half burned, none rec¬ 
ognizable, for the fire had done its dreadful work. 

Thus far the Japanese, paralyzed by the extent and 
thoroughness of the disaster, had no organization for re¬ 
lief. All their effort thus far had gone towards policing 
Tokyo where the city was but half destroyed. In Yoko¬ 
hama nothing was left to protect. 

A few minutes Jerry stood in the midst of all that 
ruin, dazed, stunned by the magnitude, by the awfulness 
of it. Then, reason returning, he asked himself what 
he had expected to find there, and went leaping, clamber- 
309 


3io 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


ing over piles of brick and stone, over half burned beams 
and blackened bodies to where he had held her for hours 
in the water, until his strength had given out. 

But here was no better satisfaction—only the same 
nauseating smell, the ghastly sights of mangled, burned, 
mutilated creatures, dead already more than twenty-four 
hours. They lay in heaps all along the water front. 
Death? What was death in that city of the dead where 
the living were so few and the dead lay all about in 
thousands, in tens of thousands! 

At first he scrutinized them as he stumbled along, sod¬ 
den, charred, broken relics of what had been men and 
women. 

He reached the canal. The bridge was gone. Where 
the road wound up to the Bluff was only an ugly scar 
left when the hill had crashed down burying Motomachi 
district, crushing its shops and houses under the ruthless 
avalanche. 

The canal was choked, a little water trying to filter its 
way through. 

Others were crossing. Jerry followed them, stepping 
on the bodies piled as chance had left them, piled high 
enough to choke the canal in which they had sought 
safety only to be parboiled. 

High above him a wooden house hung poised on the 
ragged edge where the Bluff had been broken off. He 
climbed laboriously through the soft soil to reach it. The 
stone foundation had been literally torn out and thrown 
this way and that in the violent upheaval, leaving the 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


3 11 

wracked, distorted house a parody on what it was, 
deformed until no two lines could be found running 
parallel. 

Over the front door—if that remnant could be called a 
door—hung a horseshoe in the approved position to in¬ 
sure good luck. 

Standing there where he could look down on miles of 
devastating tragedy Jerry laughed aloud, a laugh that 
shocked himself—the first reaction after so many hours of 
Hell. 

“My God!” he exclaimed. “The horseshoe was saved!” 

Possibly he might find some trace of his friends’ house. 
Nearby he recognized Mr. Brady’s by the tennis court 
which was absolutely uninjured, though the garage close 
by had sunk into the earth, only its roof visible, and the 
house utterly demolished. 

Sick at heart he went on by the English Church now 
level with the ground, by the English graveyard where, 
in a grave scooped out as by an angry giant, he read 
upon the upturned gravestone this sardonic text: “He 
giveth his beloved sleep.” 

Nowhere a house or any building into which one might 
enter for a night’s shelter. Complete, utter destruction 
in every direction. 

No, how curious! Not complete, for here on the sum¬ 
mit of the hill beside him where had been, but were no 
longer, the naval hospitals of England and America—a 
flagstaff stood, half burned through, a weak and sorry 
staff, but from its peak uninjured through it all, spared 


312 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


by a hair’s breadth from the common fate, floated the 
stars and stripes. 

Her flag! Her beloved flag which she pardoned for 
the faults it covered, adored for the principles it was 
believed to represent. 

With the military salute learned in the War he greeted 
it, younger son of his own proud flag. 

Where was she now, that woman whom that flag rep¬ 
resented ? 

Was it possible that nothing remained of her except 
the memory of a brave soul, a white soul that never 
could know defeat or failure, a dauntless soul that would 
be his inspiration as long as he lived! 

How and when had it come to pass that she was here 
in Yokohama? Why had she come, and what of Mr. 
Ko? Her departure with him from Shanghai had never 
in the world been for a pleasure excursion. That wily 
schemer had in some way dragged her in to further his 
own selfish ends. What if her being here meant that 
she too had found him out? 

The wild man in Jerry Householder was on edge to 
rush into some new danger, attack some imagined evil, 
do anything, so long as one needn’t wait for detailed 
plans. The difficulty was that there was no longer any¬ 
thing for him to do—unless- 

They must need help aboard the Empress of Australia, 
in caring for so many wounded, as they had cared for 
him. 

Strange indeed how things happen. If this earthquake 



WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


3 i 3 

had come at night the city would have been spared most 
of the horrors from fire. 

Coming at noon, every house had its pot of coals over 
which the rice for dinner was cooking. Thus thousands 
of fires sprang up at once. Yet some believe that it is 
all so planned by an all wise Providence! 

As Jerry pondered these difficult questions he was hur¬ 
rying back to find the launch. There was nothing to be 
accomplished where he was. 

Sudden resentment against Mr. Ko gripped him. If 
that snake hadn’t lured her in some way she wouldn’t 
have been here—would be alive somewhere. And if she 
had been alive and he, Jerry, had gone to her with his 
humble apology for having distrusted her once—would she 
have listened to him? He couldn’t imagine those lovely 
eyes hard and cold. It simply wasn’t in them to bestow 
a glance that wasn’t kind. 

He found the launch after a time of waiting which 
had nearly driven him to enlist among the volunteers who 
were removing a few of the dead from the nearest ruins. 
It had come back with a fresh load of those who, like 
him, must see for themselves that their loved ones were 
past all help. The disappointed but convinced were re¬ 
turning, a weary, despondent group, tearless but white 
with the horror of it. 

Action! Action of any sort. Jerry’s soul cried out 
for it. Beside him in the launch an elderly man locked 
and unlocked his two hands, gazed with unseeing eyes 
towards the receding shore, sighed audibly, then shivered 


3 H 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


—not as one who feels the cold—as one who lives again in 
memory through anguish that is worse than pain. 

Why ask him what it was ? Why insult such grief with 
words, when words were trivial, quite inadequate to ex¬ 
press what each was feeling, what each had suffered? 

“Almighty God!” the man muttered, unconscious that 
he spoke aloud, “why both? Why not have spared me 
one ? Why not ? Why—not ?” 

Again the old man shivered, shivered, until his teeth 
chattered, but it was not cold. 

•If one could only do something to help, could lift or 
fight or shove his hand into the fire! But sitting still, 
looking on at grief while stifling one's own—inconceiv¬ 
ably the hardest thing in the world for one of his tem¬ 
perament. 

They had almost reached the ship when the old man, 
suddenly aware of him, turned to say: “What purpose, 
what purpose can be served by all this suffering?” 

“Why look for a purpose?” Jerry suggested. 

“There must be a purpose,” the old man answered 
devoutly. Then with clenched fists added: “Yet will I 
not doubt Him.” Faith! 

How it took him back to his boyhood, to his father’s 
comfortable belief in stained glass, credulity and sacra¬ 
ments ! 

Was the old man, fighting it out with his Faith, any 
happier than he who shut his teeth down hard on Reality, 
bent his back—and bore it ? 

When they got aboard there was news of a wireless just 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


3i5 

in from the American admiral in the Philippines. He 
was already rushing help to Yokohama. 

What a Nation! Constance’s Nation! 

The first to act—without a moment’s delay they were 
in action. In spite of their crudities, in spite of their 
heterogeneous composition, they were a nation after his 
own heart. There’s trouble. All right, act. Do some¬ 
thing. If it’s not the right thing, try something else. 
Constance’s country—and his own idea of action! 

Instantly the name of Jerry Householder was sent to 
the captain with the message: “Use me. I’ll do any 
kind of work, but work I must.” 

There was work enough to be done. The captain, 
knowing his man, assigned him the duty of carrying food 
to those on the decks. The overworked stewards were 
not half enough for the task. 

Most men and women want the showy jobs, heads of 
committees, armchair decisions, names in the papers, con¬ 
sulting jobs—on horseback just behind the band. 

But somebody has to do the drudgery, the real work, 
on foot, not even up on a platform. 

Captain Robinson knew his man, and he gave Jerry 
Householder real work, inconspicuous, hard work to do, 
knowing that it would be done, and done right. 

It interested Jerry, as he ministered to the wants of 
so many, to note how much alike they were in appreciation 
of his services. He had expected it of his own country¬ 
men, the courtesy which is not varnish nor yet veneer, 
but the outer surface of real character. 


3i6 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


He knew the Japanese, but the Chinese he did not know. 
To his surprise all seemed genuinely to appreciate every 
attention. Suffering, sorrow, sympathy—what are differ¬ 
ences of race and language in the great crisis! 

During the evening he came to where a woman knelt 
on the deck bending over one who could speak only in 
whispers. One could tell from her figure, from the sup¬ 
ple grace with which she bent, that the woman was young. 
He could not see her face, but as he passed he saw the 
man over whom she was leaning. It was the elderly man 
with whom he had come in the launch. A fellow worker 
furnished the information that he had collapsed shortly 
after reaching the ship; that the doctor had said it was 
heart strain, over-exertion, and he didn’t think the old 
fellow had enough vitality left to see it through. 

Jerry lingered, wondering how the old man’s faith was 
holding out. Could he also say even now from his heart: 
“Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him?” 

The faint voice reached his ears: “Repeat it for me, 
please—I—want Him to know—that I—was able—to— 

pray His prayer—even—after—this-” 

Jerry could hardly hear the woman’s voice for her 
head was bowed. She was repeating something very 
slowly, deliberately. Suddenly the old man’s strength 
came back to give his words clear carrying force, dis¬ 
tinctly audible now: “That’s it. That’s the part. ‘Thy 
will be done! Thy—will—be—done.’ ” 

The white head made an effort to rise. The woman 
gently put her hand behind it, lifting him until he half 



WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


317 

sat. Once more the same clear tone: “ ‘Thy will— 

be-’ ” 

Jerry waited for the next word. Instead came a 
strange choking rattle. The mouth was open, the eyes 
glazed even now. 

The woman tenderly laid him back, the old head where 
it had rested on the hard deck, A breath of wind 
stirred the white hair on his temples. 

“I wonder,” Jerry muttered as he moved away. 
“Faithful submission. Is it better or worse than Hell 
and blazes?” 



CHAPTER XXXIII 


Eight bells. Midnight. 

The deck was almost dark, all but two lights ex¬ 
tinguished, that those housed there might sleep. 

Jerry Householder, hungry, thirsty, and very tired, 
leaned on the rail, peering into the night towards the city 
lying there so still, so calm in death, a vast graveyard of 
the unburied. 

Not a light shone out where thousands had gleamed, 
not a sound or sign of life where hundreds of thousands 
lived and loved, and laughed only two days ago! 

What was that cracking, like a board breaking ? Surely 
no searcher among the ruins. No, the hyenas, the shift¬ 
less cowards of humanity, too lazy to work, too contemp¬ 
tible to help others, had come to prowl and help them¬ 
selves. The Japanese, neither better nor worse than 
other nations, had their hyenas, and under cover of the 
darkness they had begun to fatten upon the dead. After 
all, what care the dead? What care the dead for tears, 
for flowers on their graves, for monuments? Who was 
it who said: “A lie will fade if you let it alone. On 
monuments lies live forever in stone.” It was a pessimist, 
an iconoclast. The monument records a man’s virtues, 
318 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


3i9 


doesn’t pretend to be a summary, an exact accounting of 
debits and credits. And that too is our memory of our 
beloved dead—we recall the best because we loved them. 

Shakespeare was only half right when he said the evil 
that men do lives after them. 

Would Constance, then, know or care that he had 
risked his life to save her body from the flames? 

Hadn’t he been wrought to a pitch of madness at sight 
of that wife struggling to get free while the fire crept 
nearer, nearer, and the husband who would have died with 
her was tom away from her very arms! 

Constance would never know. But he would know. 
The flowers on the grave were not for the dead who would 
never know, but for the comfort of the giver, the solace 
that is in expression, the relief of tears. “Thus endeth 
the second lesson.” How often he had heard his father 
deliver this in his dry, unconvincing tone in the pulpit. 

Well, this had been his second lesson. Esther had 
given him the first. Esther, who had acted lately as if 
she were ready now to take up the affair again, had in¬ 
timated that she made a mistake when she threw him over 
to marry little Peter Landon. 

Esther—still the wilful child who cries for the moon 
and yesterday—Esther who doesn’t know about the water 
passing under the bridge, that men and some women 
grow up, are not today where they were this day five 
years since. Esther, the pretty egotist chasing pleasure, 
not even wise enough to see that they who chase Pleasure 
never overtake it. Esther—and the woolly dog on wheels. 


320 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


Did she think he might still enjoy pulling that at the 
the end of a string? 

What little things often change the whole current of 
our lives! A trembling of the earth, the slipping of its 
surface over an area of forty by a hundred miles—and 
four hundred thousand lives are ended, more than a mil¬ 
lion lives are diverted from their former channel's. 

Well, start where he would, it all came back to Con¬ 
stance. Trifles had always been the determining factor 
in his own life. The trifle of his getting so excited over 
an idiotic little plot had led him to Constance. 

The trifle of his suspicion. Ah! That was not a 
trifle! Someone had come to share the darkness with 
him. He had chosen the darkest place on the deck. Al¬ 
ways since early childhood he had found it helped to get 
away quite by himself to think things out. 

Sometimes all the thoughts were not relevant. It didn’t 
matter. It was so that he kept sane, got his perspective, 
took stock of what was left, got the courage to start again. 
He was glad of his contract with Westgate’s house. Poor 
old Westgate! 

But the change of scene, the necessity to make new 
friends, the very fact of keeping on—He had no idea of 
giving up, lying down, or moping over his dead past. 

Someone, the outline seemed a woman—might be a 
man in a bath robe—had come to share the darkness, 
hadn’t seen him there until she had stopped to lean over 
the rail and gaze towards the dark, silent waste that so 
short a time ago had been gay Yokohama. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


3 21 

She also had her memories, her sorrow and uncer¬ 
tainty, and even fears—for a sigh escaped her, and the 
hand on the rail gripped hard. All they could tell her 
was that she was picked up in the water, was scarcely 
conscious when brought aboard, but soon revived. In 
the water? How in the world did she ever get into the 
water ? 

“I remember that she and I stood there talking, just 
talk in which neither of us was interested—when it came! 
And then—was it nightmare or reality—that awful 
weight that wouldn’t let me up ? 

“Oh, I remember—she was going to send me help and 
it didn’t come—and I waited and cried—yes, I screamed 
—it must have come at last.” 

She shivered at the remembrance of it—the fire crack¬ 
ling and roaring, hot showers of sparks, stifling smoke— 
and that awful something that held her down! 

She had seen by now that a man stood close beside her. 
At first she had thought she was alone. Perhaps he 
might know, this person who was sound enough to be on 
his feet—possibly a ship’s officer. 

“Do you know of a—Mrs. Lan-don—Esther Landon— 
who would have been brought aboard—when I was? I 
thought it just possible—you might know-” 

The woman spoke deliberately. Jerry could have sworn 
it was Constance Farley’s voice. Could have sworn it, 
only things like that don’t happen. When they do, it 
shows a man is off his head. You get to dreaming of a 
thing, going over and over it in your mind—and it gets 


322 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


you. It had got him. The woman beside him hadn’t 
spoken. It was his distorted imagination. 

She had taken her hands from the rail to face him. 
Once more that same voice. This time it merely had 
time to say: “I—” before he interrupted: “Oh! I’m 
so sorry!” 

Then it was her turn to start. “Why—you’re not— Do 
say something more. Your voice is so exactly like-” 

“Well, what I mean, so is yours,” he exploded. “That’s 
the very point, d’you see?” 

“Why, it is you!” she answered, and he could hear the 
joy in her voice. 

But even now it was unbelievable. How could it be? 
Do the dead rise ? 

“Oh, I say!” he insisted, almost brusquely, because of 
his amazement and persistent doubt. “How did you get 
here? Are you Constance Farley, or just somebody with 
her voice?” 

“I am Constance Farley, and I got here because Esther 
Landon sent help to dig me out just in time. We were 
together at the Oriental.” 

“Then it was you that I saw in the window!” 

There was a moment of embarrassed silence before he 
went on: “I don’t know now what drove me back to the 
ruins of the Oriental Palace. Something in the back of 
my mind—what I mean—some suspicion that it might be 
you-” 

He couldn’t hear the rapid beating of her heart or the 
voice that sang in her ears: “He cares!” 




WHERE THE TWAIN MET 323 

Presently he added: “But I thought you were dead. 
Even when I’d got you out—and held you there in the 
water.” 

“You!” she cried. “Was it you? I had been crying 
for help. The fire! Oh, it was so near, and no one— 
heard—and then—the very next I knew was when they 
lifted me into a boat—and Esther—didn’t—send help! 
But—it was—you!” 

Could she mean the caress in that sentence? Then be¬ 
cause of the long tension he did an incredible thing, “What 
became of Mr. Ko?” he asked. 

It was a dash of cold water in her face, but she was 
woman enough not to show it. “I cannot tell you,” she 
said. 

“But you left Shanghai with him.” 

“Yes.” 

The tide came lapping at the high side of the great ship. 
It made a light slapping, the only sound to break the si¬ 
lence. Had either of the two broken that silence,—but 
jealousy had taken a sudden hold upon Jerry, Jerry, who 
ten minutes before would have given his right arm for 
this opportunity. And pride had as suddenly sealed the 
lips of Constance at the moment when her heart exulted 
in the knowledge that he cared. 

•It would have been so simple, so womanly, for her to 
make allowance for his being a man, and to trust him with 
a detailed account of her journey back to the house of 
Sin Chang, explaining why she went, and what it cost her 
to discover the real Mr. Ko. 


324 WHERE THE TWAIN MET 

But he might think she was bidding for his friendship. 

And Jerry—hadn’t he been saying to himself that he 
was a cur to have distrusted her? 

Hadn’t he bowed his head to the dust with remorse? 
Yet here he was, speechless, jealous again of the rich 
Mr. Ko. 

Didn’t he realize it was insulting her to drop the subject 
so abruptly? 

A cigarette carelessly flung away has destroyed miles 
of noble forest. 

An opportunity tossed aside as carelessly as a cigarette 
has knocked a romance in the head. 

Trifles are the turning points of lives. They make up 
the bulk of every life. 

Insensibly the silence was prolonged until it became 
still harder to break it. It had become a duel; to go on 
with the conversation now was to acknowledge you were 
in the wrong. 

Then a plaintive voice from the deck, well forward: 
“Water, please.” 

“Coming,” she answered, but Jerry was half way down 
the deck. To do something—that had always been his 
way out of any difficulty. A drink of water for one of the 
injured. It was soon got. 

How marvellous it all was! He had been talking with 
Constance. He had saved her life—without knowing it. 
She was alive! The thrill of that thought carried him 
back on flying feet, back to the spot where they had stood 
—silent. But Constance was gone. 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 325 

Careful search of the ship failed to reveal her. She 
might come back. When eight bells chimed again and 
it was four in the morning, Jerry waited for her, but he 
waited in vain. 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


“What became of Mr. Ko?” Constance repeated that 
question to herself as Jerry hurried off to get someone a 
drink of water. What indeed! How did she know what 
became of him? Thank Heaven, she didn’t know. Sin 
Chang understood too well to mention it. 

Mr. Ko might be walking or riding one of Sin Chang’s 
bullocks to reach Seoul. No such possibility had entered 
her mind until Jerry had so bluntly brought up the ques¬ 
tion. It was more in his manner than in the words that 
the offence lay. 

As though she were responsible for Mr. Ko—or worse, 
as though they were somehow to be associated, so that 
the same question would have been asked of him if he 
had been the one to come. 

A woman met her wandering about in search of a nook 
where she could be alone, an understanding woman who 
had worked with her all the afternoon, had seen her 
brought aboard drenched and weak, had marvelled at her 
vitality and courage which had in a few hours transformed 
her from a patient to a nurse. 

The woman insisted that she come down to her cabin 
for rest and sleep. Being a forceful woman she had her 
way. 


326 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


3 2 7 

At first Constance could only lie staring at the upper 
berth, her thoughts a wild tumult—when she had given up 
all idea of sleeping she slept. When she woke the ship 
was moving. That was her waking thought— Was she 
on her way home via Vancouver ? 

A strange woman, young, rather attractive, stood be¬ 
fore the little mirror over the wash stand using the lip 
stick on lips already carmine yet not more brilliant than 
the red spots on her powdered cheeks. 

Why should that sight remind her of Jerry? 

Ah, it was what he said coming down on the train: 

“Paint, powder and the lip stick keep more men virtu¬ 
ous than all the precepts in all the good books.” 

Jerry! How could she have been so impatient with 
him, even if he did—intimate certain things that were 
unwarrantable. 

The girl who was making up like a Noah’s Ark stopped 
long enough to explain that they were on the way back 
to Kobe to land the refugees. 

By that time Constance was ready to cry for shame. 
How had she rewarded the man who had risked his life 
to save from the flames even her dead body! 

She now recalled vividly his blistered face, scorched 
hair and bandaged hand. Hadn’t he a perfect right to 
criticize her going away with Mr. Ko ? 

Wasn’t it the natural thing to do? She would have 
done the same, herself! 

Where could she find Jerry to explain her conduct? 
As quickly as she could she got back on deck. One glance 


328 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


in that same little mirror and she was glad that women 
dress only for each other. Her borrowed odds and ends 
clothed her; that was all that anyone could say in their 
praise. 

She found Jerry hard at work serving luncheon to ref¬ 
ugees. There was nothing for her to do just then, so she 
sat and watched. 

That man of tireless energy, putting his soul into 
everything he did, was the man who had saved her. She 
had known many. It was plain to see that she had at¬ 
tracted many—and not merely physically as she had at¬ 
tracted Mr. Ko. 

Never had she felt towards anyone the same sort of 
affection which she felt for Jerry. 

•It was all kinds deliciously and delightfully rolled into 
one. 

There he was rushing about; he didn’t even suspect that 
she was watching him. He was dishevelled, in rags, not 
at all his neat, well-kept self. She was glad, glad to see 
him at his worst and know, as she knew now, that she 
loved him. 

She was even not sorry about her own appearance be¬ 
cause it was a real test. 

Finally his work was finished. He came up and leaned 
on the rail looking off toward the land on the starboard 
side. He hadn’t turned his head when she took a place 
beside him. 

Deliberately she began: 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


3 2 9 


“You asked what became of Mr. Ko.” 

“Oh, I say,” he protested, “I didn’t mean that.” 

“Why shouldn’t you mean it? It’s a perfectly proper 
question.” 

“In a way, perhaps, but what I mean-” 

“Yes, I know. Well, you see, Jerry, it was like this.” 

“Do you know,” he broke in before she could go on, 
“I think it’s topping of you to call me Jerry—just as if 
I hadn’t done anything at all to offend you.” 

“Offend me ? I felt a stupid wretch about that. Why, 
you risked your life for me. If anyone has a right to ask 
me—things like that, you certainly have.” 

“Well, on my word now I didn’t mean it offensively.” 

“Of course you didn’t, but I want to tell you. There 
isn’t anyone—but you—to whom I could tell it. Can’t 
we go somewhere and sit down?” 

It seemed at first that they couldn’t find a place on all 
that big ship, but at last they succeeded in getting room 
enough to sit on the deck up against one of the lifeboats. 
There she told her story, beginning with Mr. Ko’s plausi¬ 
ble explanation of his peace project; the journey under¬ 
taken to enlist Sin Chang’s influence; the conversation on 
the mountain side below Sin Chang’s hut. 

When she came to Ko-Yiang’s passionate embrace, his 
whispered words; her fears that grew to certainty when 
she could not move him; his strength that was gradually 
wearing her down;—that moment of horror when things 
went black and she knew that he would have his way— 


330 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


she made it all as matter of fact as she could, minimiz¬ 
ing it. What she could not control was her voice as she 
told it. 

Suddenly Jerry laid his hand on hers. 

“It was far worse than you tell it,” he said. “Your 
voice shakes so it tells more than you do. Don’t say any 
more about it if it distresses you, but how—did it end?” 

“Your own voice isn’t very steady,” she said. 

“I don’t feel steady,” he answered, springing to his 
feet. 

Action! If he could only do something about it! 

“Sin Chang,” she continued, ignoring his excitement, 
“I hadn’t reckoned on his keenness. He was on the watch, 
came—just in time—I don’t know what he did with him. 
He was holding him over his head, kicking, struggling, 
fighting. One great hand was on Ko’s throat. And Sin 
Chang told me to go back to the house. He went farther 
down towards that ravine. And—well, that’s all. When 
he joined Yisan and me in a few minutes, nothing was 
said. Next day he put me on a train for Fusan. I was 
on my way—home ” 

“Home?” he asked. “Where is home?” 

She smiled, that little wry smile that he had noticed the 
first time they met—in Seoul. He thought now, as he 
had thought then, that it was a brave smile, the smile of 
the woman who isn’t afraid of life, who meets it bravely 
and cheerfully. Ah, but such a woman must have won 
that courage by experience. The pampered favorite of 



WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


33i 

fortune demands luxury, ease, security as her right. At 
heart she is a coward. 

He knew that kind also—many of them—Esther was 
an example. 

His voice was not quite steady when he answered his 
own question, but this time its unsteadiness was due to 
the little wry smile and all the dear, womanly quality that 
lay behind it. 

“You have told me that, like me, you have no family, 
no home. But you are still young, you have lived long 
enough in the East to outgrow provincial narrowness. 
What I mean—you could make your home-” 

He was floundering, embarrassed by his own words. 
He had thought it a particularly good opening for what 
he wanted to say, until—on the brink of it—he began 
to wonder how she would take it. 

A woman reads the situation accurately where the man 
pictures it and doubts the meaning of what he sees. Con¬ 
stance knew what was in his mind, knew why he was em¬ 
barrassed, was sure now of that for which she had scarcely 
dared to hope. 

“I have learned that places are not what make home, ,, 
she said. 

“It’s people—those whom you love—those who—” she 
stopped at that. When he had waited for her to go on, 
for he expected deliberate, careful choice of words, from 
her, and still she did not speak, he laid his hand on hers. 
She had drawn up her knees and sat there clasping them 


332 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


in her locked hands, and his clasped them both in its 
strong, steady grip. 

How much it meant—that grasp tightening over hers— 
then relaxing only to grip the harder. 

She didn’t turn her head to look at him. 

How understanding of him not to speak, not to profane 
the sacredness of that moment with words. 

Could words express the thrill that quivered through 
every nerve and fibre of her being? Could words convey 
the blinding brightness that had suddenly flashed from 
heaven to show where her path led ? Could words tell him 
what Love meant to her who had thirsted for it, yet never 
recognized the need until she met him ? 

Could words picture a soul in Heaven? How lamen¬ 
tably they had failed in the book of the Revelation, leav¬ 
ing Heaven somewhere between a zoo and a jeweler’s 
shop! 

Her sense of humor had saved her many times before. 

This time the picture of Heaven broke the spell of si¬ 
lence, yet only so far that she could look into his eyes and 
say—one word. 

“Jerry!” 

In his eyes she saw tears, for while she had been pond¬ 
ering her new found Heaven, he had gone back to the 
fluttering skirt, to the discovery that it was her body that 
lay there half buried in debris, to the frantic effort to 
save that body before the flames should devour it—and 
never once had he even suspected that she was alive! 

Now, because of that reverent devotion—here she was 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


333 

beside him. And in her voice and manner was that in¬ 
describable something that told him of her love. 

No wonder the tears were in his eyes. 

“Constance!” he murmured. 

His hand on hers finished the sentence: “Till Death us 
do part.” 

“Yes,” she whispered. 

Evening overtook them still sitting there on the deck 
under the big lifeboat. 

And with the darkness Jerry grew bolder. His arm 
encircled her, and she, nothing loath, snuggled close up to 
him. 

“They will need us,” she whispered again when nurses 
and helpers began their round of the decks. 

“Yes, we must go,” he assented, but his arm did not 
for an instant relax or offer to release her. She made 
no attempt to break away. 

A few minutes couldn’t matter much to the injured, but 
to her every minute was vital. How long ago was it that 
Jerry, her Jerry, had said that she had no home? 

A few minutes, that was, and now—now and hence¬ 
forth her home was where he was. 

He put his lips close to her ear, so close that she wished 
he would keep that position for a thousand years—then 
he whispered: 

“I came so near to losing you-” 

“Do you remember, back in Shanghai, when I shocked 
you by talking nonsense about the emancipation of 
women?” she asked. 


334 


WHERE THE TWAIN MET 


“Yes, it didn’t sound like you—even then.” 

“That was nothing but bravado—I loved you, and I 
felt angry with myself for being so silly when you didn’t 
want my love ?” 

“And, I, fool that I was, thought you were trying to 
please Mr. Ko.” 

He could feel her shudder at the recollection of that 
name. 

“Was it—so dreadful?” he asked, enjoying the more his 
present sense of responsibility, his right henceforth to 
protect her. 

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak of it. 

Again, they were silent, thinking the same thoughts, 
trying to comprehend what life would mean now that its 
cup was full. 

Had any inquisitive person turned a flashlight on the 
pair it would have revealed a man, unkempt, unshaven, in 
ragged clothes; a woman wearing a borrowed bath 
wrap- 

But on the faces of both, even a poor flashlight would 
have shown the joy unspeakable, the one glimpse of 
Heaven, the realization of eternal life which is revealed 
to those who love with perfect understanding. 


THE END 

























































































































